Works

li

3/6

BOOKS BY THE

REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART,

I. ORIGINAL.

1. Srna/J Si //r. Third Edition, with Additions, royal ibmo,

cloth antique, price i». 6d. Pp.no,
« There •» in it both genius and lodgment, good writing, good learning, and good gospel*

Jmxf 4, 1863.

><arf • noble sermon.'— Rev. C. H. SlTBGKOW, m^md^t to anextrtutfrom it im
kit ' Illtutr«tt4Atm*»mtktf»r 1864.

•The theology of the hook u puritanic; the thinking, •esailhn and weighty ; the mm-
Oration* picturesque, and drawn from a wide range of*bsenrade« and reading : and the
appeals to the conscience are often both unenpededand very pungent. The author's bril-
ttu^Mand there is not a little of it) is Uke a rMtJnsh, wWdTb3t that a buflet b oa u.

bg to the conscience. '—Brititk amd Ferrigm Ev+*crlit*J Rtvirw (Qmtrtrrjy), Jmfy 1863.

2. Jesus Mighty to Save; or, Christ for all the World, and all

the World for Christ. Third Edition, with Additions, royal iomo, doth
and rjnsscssed of man than^nnHnaij bright tote ssodem lliiiiiisiijffne appears to have

.,:*•!,; • : i ..-. • ...

. • .. !, • , • .'•.•.:•••• i! . -. ,

dkmonds gathered from these mines. And when yon sit dawn to lead his book, through,

you find that this knowledge is only the vesture of a thinking power, worthy of such assodti^

t • ' • • • ••.,:••• .:..:•>.:'....•.!.,-• . • • . .

as you go along.'— TAr Sfifttator.

3. Thf Princt of Light and tht Princt of Darkness in Conflict ; or,

The Temptation of ems. Newry Tramlatcd. Exhuned. IUi»tnited.and AKed.

ewry Tramlatcd. Exphuned. IUi»tnited.and AppKed.
Pricey

exhaustive of the subject, and yet, like every book from an original mind, k is
•oggestire after all . . . The whole is treated with full learenfc M *3la* with dear
native discernment.'— THOMAS Amo, E*q.. in tkt Dmm/nrt HtrmU. Monk 4, 1864.

I win for itself a place, andthat a permanent ao^^Brititk amd ftrngn
Ewmftlical Rfoitw, Afril 1864.

rhe Lambs All Safe; or, The Solution of Children. Third

on, with considerable Additions. iSmo, cloth antique, price is.
' A quaint, pithy, and godly little book, on a scriptural basts.'— Evamgrticmt CkruttniUm.

5. Drowned: What if it had been met A Sermon in Memorial

.c Death by drowning in Lochleveo of Mr John Douglas, precentor. Third
Edition (3000), crown 8vo, price 4d.

6. The Blind Beggar by the Wayside; or, Faith, Assurance, and

Hope. 331110, Third edition, price t|d. For entlontrt in letttr*.

ta/sfor a Minister's Conversations with Intending Com-

municants for the First Time. \Sf«edily.

IL EDITED.
8. The I (h Memoir, Introduction, and Notes, of Richard

SIBBBS, D.D.. Master of Katherine Hall. Cambridge, and Preacher of Gray's Inn.
London. 7 vols. 8vo, doth antique (Michel's
' We regard Mr Grosart as a prince of editors.'— Tit* RcUctic Rtvirw (Octokr}.

a BOOKS BY THE REV. A. B. GROSART.

9. Lord Bacon not the Author of ' The Christian Paradoxes .-'

Being a Reprint of 'Memorials of Godliness,' by HERBERT PALMER, B.D. ; with
Introduction, Memoir, Notes, and Appendices.

Printed for Private Circulation (Old English Type}.

100 Copies, Large Paper, thick extra, to range with Spedding's Works of Bacon : with

Photographic Portrait of Palmer. Half morocco, cloth. Price los. 6d. (Very few

remain.} 150 Copies, Small Paper, post 8vo, cloth. Price 35. 6d. (All disposed oj .)

In an introduction I give account of the remarkable little discovery that it has fallen to me
to make : to wit, the non-Baconian, and actual, authorship of ' The Paradoxes.' I describe
the different editions. Thereafter will be found illustrations of the evil influence against
Bacon of his supposed authorship of these 'Paradoxes' as misunderstood, more especially
in France and Germany ; and also of how the real authorship sweeps away the abounding
guess-work as to their meaning and design. In a Memoir of HERBERT PALMER, I have
brought together, from all accessible sources, in print and manuscript, such facts and
memorials as remain.

10. Selections from the Unpublished Writings of Jonathan

EDWARDS, of America ; with Introduction and Fac-similes.

1. A TREATISE ON GRACE. 3. DIRECTIONS FOR JUDGING OF PERSONS'

2. SELECTIONS OF ANNOTATIONS. EXPERIENCES.

4. SERMONS.

Printed for private circulation : One Vol. royal 8vo, cloth, to range with Williams' and

American editions of the ' Works.' Price 6s. 6d. plain, 75. 6d. toned paper.

*+* The impression is strictly limited to 300 copies ; 250 plain, and 50 toned. The toned

all taken up, and few remain of the plain unsubscribed for.

11. The Works of Michael Bruce, with Memoir and Notes.

Crown 8vo. Price 35. 6d.

12. Memoir of Henry Air ay, D.D. {prefixed to reprint of his

Commentary on Philippians). 410.

13. Memoir of Thomas Cartwright, B.D. (prefixed to reprint of

his Commentary on Colossians). 4to.

14. Memoir of John King, D.D., Bishop of London (prefixed to

his Commentary on Jonah). 410.

15. Memoir of John Rainolds, D.D. (prefixed to his Commen-

taries on Obadiah and Haggai). 410.

%* Nos. 12 to 15 in NichoFs- Series of ' Puritan Commentaries.' Memoirs of
Torshell, Stock, Bernard, and Fuller to follow.

1 6. Unknown Book by Richard Baxter, Author of ' The Saints

Everlasting Rest.' 'The Grand Question Resolved, — What must we do to be
SAVED? Instructions for a HOLY LIFE: By the late Reverend Divine, Mr
RICHARD BAXTER. Recommended to the Bookseller a few days before his
Death, to be immediately printed for the good of souls. London : Printed for Tho.
Parkhurst at the Bible and Three Crowns in Cheapside. 1692.' [In preparation.

This priceless little tractate by the great Nonconformist was unknown to Calamy, and
appears to have been overlooked by all Baxter's biographers. It has all its saintly author's
best characteristics — richly scriptural, fervent to passion of entreaty, pungent, pointed,
and unmistakeable. Our copy was formerly in the famous collection of Dr Bliss, who
deemed it apparently unique. It is proposed to reprint it in a limited private impression.
The price will be 35. 6d. Prefixed will be an Introduction, containing an annotated
Bibliographical and Anecdotical Catalogue_/7"<cw actual copies of the numerous books and
tractates of Baxter, much more full than any extant, and purged from errors.

%* Persons wishing copies of the privately-printed and -unpublished books, -viz. Nos. 9,
10, and 16, will please address Mr Grosart.

THE WORKS

MICHAEL BRUCE.

' ©torpte to ren ar fcelitaMIl,

tfjat rtja fce nocfjt Sot faMH.
guiti gtoryte t|at ^utfifajSt toer,
tlja toar igatH on gttti matter,

in fjmng. . . .
fane 0et m^ t»in,
dB'tf m^ toit mtc^t guflig t^artill,
Co jut in tortt ane gut^fasft ^tor^,
tSL^at it legt a^ furt^ in memory,
©a t^at na t^m of lent!) it let,
jBa ger it ^aT^ !ie

JOHN BARBOUR : The Brus .
Spalding Club Edition.

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E WORKS

MICHAEL BRUCE

EDITED,

CBitb q^emofr tnu fiotc*,

BY THE

REV. ALEXANDER R GROSART,

' With gentle BRUCE, flinging melodious blam
On the Future for an uaconpletcd name.'
DAVID GRAY,

EDINBURGH:

WILLIAM OLIPHANT AND CO.

LONDON : HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO.

1865.

MURRAY AND GIBE, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

Co t(e Q9cmorp

Cfct Art. UUHUm q9«c*tltfr, D.D.,

BALGEDIE,

ASTHI

JTfrft ainuicator
OF THE CLAIM FOR

TO THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE

4 Out to tfce Cucloo,'

AMD OTHER rORMS;

1 INSCRIBE THIS EDITION OF THE
POET HE REVERED.

ALEXANDER B. GROSART.

CONTENTS.

MM

PREPACK. ....... . ix

PART I.

MEMOIR, ....... "

PART II.
INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS: Logan Controversy, 'Ode to the

Cuckoo,' and Paraphrases, . S«

APPENDIX TO MEMOIR : Letter*, .... • «»$

POEMS.

ODE TO THE CUCKOO, ...... .113

HYMNS AND PARAPHRASES—

I. The Complaint of Nature, . 117

u. The Lord God Omnipotent. ... .130

in. The Call of Wisdom, . . -131
iv. Heavenly Wisdom, .

v. Atoning Sacrifice, . > 4

i ; s

vn. Sorrow not as without Hope, > ' •

viu. The Enthroned High Priest, . 137

ix. Hying in the Lord, ... . ' -

x. Trust in Providence, . . . . . ' -

xi. Advent of the Messiah, . 140

xti. The Approaching Saviour. ... .144

REVISED HYMN—

The Millennium, . US

ELEGY is SPRING. .... 149

CONTENTS.

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES —

Weaving Spiritualized, . . . . . 155

Inscription on a Bible, . . 156

The Last Day, . . . . ... . 157

Lochleven, . . . . . . . .176

Sir James the Ross : An Historical Ballad, . . . 197

Ode : To a Fountain, ' . . . . . . 205

Danish Ode, .... ... 207

Danish Ode, . . . . . . . 208

To Paoli, . . '.'-.; . . . .209

The Eagle, Crow, and Shepherd : A Fable, . . . 214

The Musiad : A Minor Epic Poem, • . . . . 215

Anacreontic : To a Wasp, . . . .. .219

Alexis : A Pastoral, ....... 220

Damon, Menalcas, and Meliboeus : An Eclogue, . . . 223

Philocles : An Elegy on the Death of Mr William Dryburgh, . 227

Daphnis : A Monody, . . . • . . . 230

Verses on the Death of the Rev. Wm. M'Ewen, . . .234

To John Millar, M.D., . > . . . 235

An Epigram, . . . . . . . . 236

Pastoral Song, . , . .... . . 236

Lochleven No More, .... . . . 237

Fragments of Satires, ... . . . . 238 «

The Poet's Petition for 'a Table,' . . . . . 240

Eclogue : In the Manner of Ossian, . . . .241

The Vanity of our Desire of Immortality here, . . . 244

NOTES, . ..... 249

PREFACE.

is well-nigh an hundred years since MICHAEL
BRUCE closed, in little beyond his twenty-
first year, as fine an example of ' The Gentle
Life* as can be found anywhere. About
three years afterwards a little volume of his 'Poems'
was published under the anonymous editorship of his
college associate, JOHN LOGAN, subsequently known as
the Rev. JOHN LOGAN of Leith. I tell the story of
this publication in its own place, — a story than which,
as there is in relation to Bruce no more pathetic, so in
relation to Logan there is no more dishonourable, chapter
in the history of Literature. Apart from his impudent
theft of the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' and the Hymns and
Paraphrases, we have to lament the loss of BRUCE'S
Correspondence, which, in order to carry out his after-
claims, this ' friend " took all care to secure, even to
single letters, as shown in our Memoir. The scanty
original materials for a ' Life ' were thus in the outset
made scantier ; for JOHN LOGAN deliberately DESTROYED
every scrap of the Bruce Letters and other MSS. ' wyled '
into his possession, over and above the quarto volume

x PREFACE.

of his transcribed ' Poems/ on which the young Poet
worked so yearningly when he knew that

. . . ' All that tender bloom about his eyes
Was Death's own violets, which his utmost rite
It is to scatter, when the red rose dies.' — [HooD.]

Since the original edition of the Poems in 1770, there
have been at least other twelve editions. The worthiest
was edited by the late DR MACKELVIE in 1837, — fully
one-half of the volume consisting of a ' Life of the
Author from Original Sources.' The 'Life' won for
its right-hearted and manly author the praise and
gratitude of all the leading literary authorities. Long
' out of print,' a new edition of the ' Poems ' has been a
desideratum, as witnessed by the enhanced price fetched
by chance-occurring copies of Dr Mackelvie's edition,
and by the immediate sale, so as to put it also ' out of
print,' of a humble little edition published in Belfast.

Had Dr Mackelvie's health not failed him, he would
in all probability have re-issued his edition with revision.
Now that he is gone, I have undertaken the ' labour of
love ;' and while awarding the original Biographers (Drs
Anderson and Mackelvie) all honour and all acknow
ledgment when quoted or in any way used, it will be
found that our Memoir and handling of the Logan con
troversy concerning the ' Ode ' and Paraphrases, are
based upon independent researches that have resulted
in the recovery of new data, and in placing what was
already known in new lights. In some passages of
the Memoir I cherish an hope of having spoken words
of cheer to young men now battling with Bruce's diffi
culties, or sorer.

PREFACE. xi

In Part I. I bring together the facts of the ' Life ' of
Bruce ; and in Part II., in an Introduction to the
4 Poems,* I establish his claims to the ' Ode to the
Cuckoo* and the Hymns and Paraphrases. 'Time
brings the truth to light.'

.... * Intmlum vkia prosunt hominibus

Sed temporc ipso tamcn apparet veritas.' — [PlUBDRUS.]

The Notes explain local allusions and other points.

I have to acknowledge the kind interest shown in
our undertaking by many correspondents, who will find
some of their information and suggestions used. To
David Laing, Esq., LL.D., of the Signet Library, Edin
burgh ; Henry Flockhart, Esq. of Annafrech •, and
Robert Arnot, Esq. of Portmoak, I return special
thanks.

ALEXANDER B. GROSART.

i v .

•»* 150 copies on large paper, toned (crown 4to, cloth
antique), with original photographs of the scenes of the Memoir
and Poems^ are being prepared. The price ios. 6d.

' I owe thee the far-beac ning memories
Of the young dead, who, having crossed the tide
Of Life where it was narrow, deep, and clear,
Now cast their brightness from the further side,
On the dark-flowing hours I breast in fear.'

LORD HOUGHTON.

?art jFtrst.

MEMOIR.

' He shall be strong to sanctify the poet's high vocation,
And bow the meekest Christian down in meeker adoration ;
Nor ever shall he be, in praise, by wise or good forsaken,
Named softly as the household name of one whom God hath taken.'

MRS E. B. BROWNING.

MEMOIR.

is a name of renown in .Scotland -,
and just as, over the Atlantic, all the Rogcrscs
are ingenious in tracing their lineage to JOHN
ROGERS, the proto-martyr of The Refor
mation, so every one who bears it, ' gentle and simple,'
is eager to claim descent from the victor of Bannockburn.
There appear to have been many branches — full of seed
— from an ancient parent-trunk of Druces. The name
is met with to this day in well-nigh every county of ' the
land of the mountain and the flood.' In the native shire
of MICHAEL BRUCE, and its borders, from Leslie to Stir
ling, and from Perth to ' fair Edina,' it is to be found,
as well in the charter-chest of the towered and moated
Manor, as in * the huts where poor men lie/ ' THE BRUCE*
of whom JOHN BARBOUR sang in no unworthy Iliad,
sleeps in the cathedral church of Dunfermline ; while
down toward the Forth, among ' immemorial trees,' is the
family seat of the Earls of Elgin, whose proudest memory
is, that they are of ' the blue blood' of the regal BRUGES.
Farther West, the Bruces of Kennet, in their contendings

a THE WORKS OF

for baronage, show many a dim old roll. Within Kin
ross-shire itself, the Bruces of Arnot — on whose property
stands the shattered ' Peel ' referred to by our Poet —
have lately asserted their claim to represent, through Sir
John Bruce Hope, Bart., a long line of the name, by
disinterring from the mossed vaults in the ' Auld Kirk-
yard ' of the Parish, ranges of coffins in musty velvet and
faded gold, and rearing over them, in the very bathos of
ostentation, a * Tomb,' that in its hideous largeness and
newness — not a sprig of ivy even on its nakedness —
spoils the sequestered beauty of this fairest and most
tranquil of ' God's Acres.' I do not know that it were
possible to connect the name of the * sweet singer/
whose short Life-Story it is our purpose to tell in this
Memoir, with any of these inheritors of royal and lordly
descent. Sooth to say, I can't greatly lament this ' Miss
ing Link ; ' for MICHAEL BRUCE wears his unfading
* crown' of violets — their bits of blue, intense as heaven's
own azure, and their fragrance never to be exhaled —
from what he was and has left behind him, not from
what his 'forbears ' gave him. Yet it is not unmeet to
enroll his lowly name among THE BRUGES :

'Of him I think this buk to ma.
Now God gif gras that I may sa
Tret it and bring it till ending
That I say nocht bot suthfast thing.' T

Kinnesswood, or as Sir Robert Sibbald spells it, ' Kinask-
wood,' 2 or as * the common people ' pronounce it now,

1 John Barbour: The Brus, as on title-page, p. 4.

2 The History, Ancient and Modern, of the Sheriffdoms of Fife and Kinross,
with a description of both, and of the Firths of Forth and Tay, etc. etc. By
Sir Robert Sibbald, M.D. A new edition. Cupar-Fife, 1803. 8vo, p. 284.

MICHAEL BRUCE. j

' Kinaskit,' is a fair-placed village in the Parish of Port-
moak, a parish locally known — and therein is fathered
up probably old ecclesiastical tradition — as ' The Bishop-
shire.' Couched at the feet of • The Lomonds '—hills
green to the top — it overlooks pleasantly ' Lochleven,'
and shares a Landscape that is touched with a quiet
beauty, in its well-cultured fields, brightened with the
flash of streams •, its shy, bosky nooks, vocal with the
' singing of birds ;' its ' Walks ' in hill and dale, abiding
in undesecrated primitivcncss ; and its bits of antique
ruralness that Gainsborough had worshipped : shares also
memories of The Rets and The Culdees and St Moak,
of Mary Stuart and Sir Walter Scott's ' Abbot,* of
The Covenanters and of good Ebenezer Erskine.' It
neighbours Scotland- well, another village, which still
possesses its full-flowing 'Spring/ with its floor of
silver-white sand, the ' Font Scott* ' of ancient Charters,
if not of Tacitus himself ; noticeable likewise as having
been among the last places in Scotland that had the
peculiar form of street with a raised footpath in the
centre, which illustrates the proverb of 'keeping the
croon (" crown ") o* the causey.' a

Kinnesswood is lovingly sketched in ' Lochleven : '

' Behold the village rise-
In rural pride, 'mong intermingled trees !
Above whose aged tops the joyful swains,
At eventide descending from the hill,

ildces' and 'St Mode/ Sibbald, as above mf *omi*Unu, and Dr
Jamieson: for Mary Stuart, any of the innumerable 'Lives:' for the 'Cove
nanters,' any of the early Histories and Biographies : and for Ebenexer Erskine,
his ' Life/ by Fraser. The finest scenes of Scott's 'Abbot' are laid in and around
'Lochlevcn.*

' On Scotland-well, cf. Sibbald, as before, pp. 282 «y. Dr Mackclvic told me
of the 'causey.' as abort.

4 THE WORKS OF

With eye enamour'd, mark the many wreaths
Of pillar'd smoke, high curling to the clouds.'1

Within this village, in a house that survives grey and
ruinous, in one of the lanes that strike off from the main
street and ascend the hill, MICHAEL BRUCE was born on
March 27th, 1746,* within less than a couple of weeks
of the Battle of Culloden. The frontage of the house
presents two storeys, or, Scotice, ' flats :' the upper was
tenanted by the Bruces, and, entered from behind
through a small garden, it shows as only one 'storey'
there, owing to the declivity of the site. It is a weather
worn, ' eerie ' looking place enough at this day ; but
from the accounts of the older inhabitants of the village,
which again corroborate those of Lord Craig and of Dr
Huie on their visits in I7793 and 183 1,4 it must have
looked sunnier and l bonnier ' even comparatively recently.
The roof was thatched, and the vernal days found the
' fow ' or ' fowat ' spreading out its tropical-like leaves
along the * rigging ' and patches of moss, showing now
the sheen of emerald and now in their dewiness the
richer glow of the mottling on a bee's wing ; while the
' window' — seen in our photograph5 — had a honeysuckle
twined around it, that no doubt gladdened the ' sick heart'
of the dying lad in after years with the rich odour of
its pensile blossoms and hum of invited bees. The swal-

1 In the 'Life' of Bruce in Chambers' 'Eminent Scotsmen,' this description
is quoted with enthusiastic praise.

2 Bruce's own letters inform us of his birth-date. See onward: also 'Life,'
by Dr Anderson, in his 'Works of the British Poets.' Vol. xi. p. 273.

3 Lord Craig in 'Mirror,' No. 36. 1779.

4 Dr Huie in 'The Olive Branch,' a golden little book published in 1831.

5 The photographs will be given in the large paper copies of our book, being
prepared.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 5

lows kneaded their nests in the latticed window-corner,
and the sill was visited o* winter mornings by the robin
with his ruff of red.

His rather was ALEXANDER BRUCE -, his mother
ANNE BRUCE, which was her maiden name as well,
though not previously related. ' I would I were a
wftitvr/ says Falstaff: 'I could sing psalms.'1 The
mighty Knight's wish was doubly gained by Master
Michael. His father was a ' weaver j ' his cradle was
rocked beside the clicking loom ; and, though in far
other sense than Sir John intended, ' psalms ' were sung
in devout praise in his house. For over and above his
possession of his full share of shrewd, ' common sense ' —
most un-common of all sense — ALEXANDER BRUCE was
a man of much individuality and sterling worth and
weight of Christian character— of the old Scottish type:
less loquacious than its modern counterfeit, but all the
truer from its silent ' witnessing ' rather than fussy con
sciousness. He was a ' Seceder ' and ' elder ' in his
Congregation ; and as an evidence of the breadth of his
opinions at a narrow period, nor less of his independence
of judgment, he adhered to THOMAS MAIR of Orwell,
when that misunderstood and holy man was ejected
from the Anti-Burgher Synod for holding that ' there is
a sense in which Christ died for ALL men.' a Both Mr
and Mrs Bruce were connected with his Congregation,
and reckoned it no burden to go Sabbath after Sabbath
to Milnathort,3 — a daily journey to and fro of fully ten

* Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 5.

3 Darid Pearson (of whom more in the sequel) drew up a memoir of Alexander
Bruce, which appeared in the Edinburgh 'Missionary Chronicle ' for 1797. It i»
well wonky penMaL

6 THE WORKS OF

miles. ANNE BRUCE, again, was a genuine ' mother in
Israel,' vigilant, loving, frugal, 'eident;' and having been
spared long after her husband, and nearly all her chil
dren, she mellowed beautifully as she wore her crown
of silver hairs, and exemplified the ' hoary head found
in the way of righteousness' (Prov. xvi. 31). Thus
the lines of Cowper, that can no more grow trite from
often quotation than can a Rose or Violet, express his
lineage :

' My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the earth ;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise,
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.' x

The Poet of * The Cuckoo ' was thus born into just
such a * fireside ' as a few years later his brother-bards
ROBERT TANNAHILL and ROBERT NICOLL, not to name
others. Of course your * gentleman ' and ' fine lady,'
who have nothing but compassion for the ' poor Weaver/
and to whom the very thought of a ' Loom ' calls up
visions of wretchedness and want, deem it a sad start
in life. But I don't at all agree with them : I very
thoroughly disagree. A ' godly ' parentage weighs down
mere outward splendour ; and ' daily bread ' sweetened
by honest earning is not to be scorned because of the
absence of dainties and luxuries to gratify every whim
of appetite. The men of Scotland who have made their
deepest mark on their generation, have worked their way
upward from just such levels ; and in my own personal
knowledge of how much of love and comfort, of plea
sant laughter, of kindly helping one another, of real

1 ' Passing' while he lived : 'passed' after he had 'gone before.'

MICHAEL BRUCE. 7

happiness, all transfigured with 'that light that never
was on sea or land,* but comes from Above, are to
be found under lowly roofs, — and how far a small sum,
well-guided, and unbroken by 'strong drink* or other
fleshly indulgences, goes, — and how the 'bit* always
' comes * for each new ' mouth,* with the great Father's
blessing over all, that seems still miraculously to 'in
crease ' the ' loaves and few small fishes ' and to leave
' baskets over,* — and what stores of knowledge are con
trived to be laid up, and how the family ' pew * 'is un
failingly paid for, and never the 'penny* wanting for
the ' plate ' o' Sundays, or white money for any special
appeal, — I must regard the pity as misdirected, and the
sentimcntalism as unmanly whimpering. The old Cove
nant-promise is, ' His bread shall be given him : his
water shall be sure,* as our daily petition left us by The
Master runs, ' Give us this day our daily brfad* Let a
man have these — ' Bread and Water,' — necessaries, not
dainties ; and if he have a man's brain and a man's
heart, and the Christian's faith and hope, he will prove
stronger than his circumstances, and will conquer, un
less perchance there be taint i* the blood, as in early-
ailing MICHAEL BRUCE. I make these remarks because
too much has been made of the ' indigence,* etc. etc.,
of Bruce. Thousands are born into, and are bravely
and truthfully and purely living through, the same pres
sure and ' fight ;' and they are the bone and muscle of
the body politic, ay, and are ever and anon showing
that God gives intellect and genius impartially. Me-
thinks, instead of patronizing pity, the best thing possible
for not a few of your gloved and jewelled ' Upper

8 THE WORKS OF

Classes' (so-called), were enforced winning of 'bread,'
even to the tanning of their brow by sweat, and rough
ening and enlarging of their hands by labour.

We have no pedigree of the ' Kinnesswood ' Bruces,
whence to trace the Christian name of ' Michael.' I have
consulted old records, and registers not a few, including
the Baptism-Book of my own congregation, which goes
back to the very commencement of ' The Secession,'
and embraces the entire county, and far beyond ; but
while there are many Bruces, there is no ' Michael ' in
one of them. Neither do the present representatives of
the Poet (descendants of a sister) know of any one
from whom the name might be selected. It has struck
me, that in all likelihood good Alexander Bruce chose
the Christian name of the child from ' Michael Bruce,' the
famous Covenanter-preacher, whose burning ' Sermons,'
once scattered in quaint chap-books, were much read
by the godly peasantry of Scotland and of the North
of Ireland.1

' Michael ' was a delicate infant. He was the ' fifth '

1 The following are the titles of a few of these : —

1. The Rattling of the Dry Bones ; or, a Sermon preached in the night-time at
Chapel-yard, in the parish of Carluke, Clydsdale, May 1672. Ezek. xxxviii. 7, 8.
4*0.

2. Soul-Confirmation : a Sermon preached in the parish of Cambusnethan, in
Clyds-dail. [Acts xiv. 22.] 410, 1709.

3. Six dreadful alarms in order to the right improving of the Gospel ; so [mis
print for 'or'] the substance of a sermon. Matt. vii. 24. 410.

4. The duty of Christians to live together in religious communion, recommended
in a sermon preached at Belfast, January 5, 1724-5, before the sub-Synod, on
Rom. xv. 7. 8vo. Belfast, 1725.

5. A sermon preached by Master Michael Bruce, in the Tolbooth of Edin
burgh, the immediate Sabbath after he received the sentence of exile for Virginia.
Ps. cxl. 12, 13. 4to. I have over and over come upon the 'Sermons' of this
' Michael Bruce ' in our County, — a circumstance that speaks of their circulation
in the district, and so is confirmatory of our supposition concerning the Poet's
Christian name.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 9

of a family of eight. While ' Saunders ' — that is, his
4 father ' — plied his shuttle, and 4 Annie/ his ' mother,'
or as Doric lips call her, ' mither/ having put all to
rights exactly as inimitably photographed by ROBERT
BURNS in ' The Cottar's Saturday Night/ sat down at
the • Spinning-Wheel,' and worked away at materials for
winter underclothing 'for a' the bairns? ever and anon
lilting some old snatch of song, or perchance a ' Psalm '
•.id, — Mary Miller, an adopted orphan, took charge
of the sickly little thing. All as still to be seen repeated
in an hundred lowly but happy Scottish * hanitsS

Children were earlier sent to school long ago than
now : partly because of their pair of hands being all too
soon needed to add to the family purse as ' herds/ if
boys ; as * servant-maids/ if girls.1 ALEXANDER BRUCE
had taken special pains with ' Michael ' himself : so
much so, that when he ' toddled/ before he had reached
his fourth year, to the village school, which was then
taught by a Mr Dun, of whom there are still faint
memories in the ' Bishopshire/ he could take with him
the Bible as his first lesson-book. ' The Master/ says
Dr Mackelvic, reporting the account of those who had
been his playmates, ' was surprised at what he con
sidered the stupidity of his parents, in furnishing their
child with the sacred volume instead of the Shorter
Catechism.' ' His surprise, however, was transferred
from the parents to the child, when, upon asking him to

worthy friend, Mr David Marshall, of the Lochlcven Fishing*, Kinross,
has put into my hands an old receipt, in the handwriting of Dr James Stedman
of Whinneld to his grandfather, also Mr David Marshall, by which it appears
that down to 1807 even 'girls' acted as 'herds:' said receipt including 12$. 'to
bis daughter Mary ' as ' her fee as Herd.'

io THE WORKS OF

show what he could do, he commenced reading with
fluency at the place pointed out to him.'1 Poor, dear
little fellow, better far had he run about the hills awhile,
ruddying his small cheeks on their breezy slopes !

' At the end of the first week,' the same Biographer
continues, * he was considered by his instructor to have
been long enough among the easy lessons of The Gos
pels ; and was therefore enjoined to bring with him, upon
his return, the book read by the more advanced class.'2
Another anecdote has been preserved, witnessing to his
precocious attainments. The father and Michael, then a
mere child, having visited a book-stall at one of the
Market-Fairs in the village, the poems of Sir David
Lindsay of the Mount were inquired for. The vendor
of books did not chance to have the volume ; but learn
ing that it was asked for the child before him, he was
so surprised that he should wish it, that he turned up a
little volume, entitled ' A Key to the Gates of Heaven '
(so tradition tells, but probably it was good old Thomas
Brooks' * Privy Key of Heaven j* or perchance Scudder's
'Key of Heaven, or the Lord's Prayer Opened'), and
promised to let him have it on condition that he would
read a portion of it upon the spot ; which being done to
his satisfaction immediately, he awarded him the prize.3

His progress through the other branches of school-
learning was equally rapid. A scrap of one of his few
letters that have survived the spoliation of Logan — of
which in the sequel — informs us that he could ' write '
when in his sixth year. ' I could write,' he says, ' or at
least scratch, my name, with the year 1752 below it. In

1 As before, p. 12. 2 Ibid. 3 Ibid. pp. 6, 7.

MICH4BL BRUCE. 1 1

that year I learnt the elements of pencraft ; and now,
let me see, 1752 from 1766 leaves fourteen, — a goodly
term for one to be a scholar.'1 Nay, gentle Michael,
not 'fourteen years' a scholar, at least not 'fourteen
years ' at School : for thy • often infirmities ' compelled
frequent absences. Very touching are the reminiscences
of the apt boy. He was slender •, breast narrow, high-
shouldered, neck long ; his skin white, even pallid and
' glistering ; ' his cheeks flushing into red rather than
ruddy ; his hair golden, and inclined to curl. These
traits are gathered from various agreeing sources.*

Besides his detention by illness, there was the further
abstraction of the summer months of six years, during
which, according to the ' use and wont ' of persons in
his circumstances, he acted as a 'Herd* among the
4 Lomond ' hills, that rise behind his native village.
Perhaps these summers in the open air, following ' the
sheep* through strath and across 'brae,' in devious
wanderings, gave him what of the brief lease of years he
got. I meet with no lads so brawnily healthy, so full
of gleesomeness, so ready for sport or ' trick,' as ' Herds.'
I have met with some, top, who revealed, through their
stammering, bashful speech, a brain at work under
the shock of sunburnt hair ; eyes out of which a soul
looked not altogether unvisited of speculation. If one
might recall delicate 'Michael,' as he went about his
daily task, there should doubtless be many a ' daunder *
along the ' Glen Vale ' to be followed -, many a musing

1 Letter to Mr David Pearson : Madcelvic, as before, pp. 12, 13.

* Mackelvie, a* before, p. 13 : confirmed to myself by a grandniece from her
mother. No portrait has been preserved. Pity that it should be so, while we
have the wrenched and bloated face of Logan, that none cares for.

i a THE WORKS OF

pause among the huge stones of ' Richard Cameron's
pulpit ;' interrogations of sky, and earth, and his own
deepening nature, and of ' The Book.' These are not
surmises merely. The Proprietor of Upper Kinneston,
a small estate upon the south-west declivity of the
' Lomond Hills,' used to tell in his old age how

* Michael ' was wont to recount many a wondrous story,
and put many a strange question, when he carried his
little ' meal ' to him, — a service he was always forward
to undertake for the sake of having a ' crack ' with the

* auld-farrant ' Herd ; * while his ' Lochleven ' is evi
dently a reproduction of his youthful wanderings and

* visions ' transfigured with the hues of poetry — the in
effable light that streams out upon everything which
genius looks on. Like the shepherd-boy David ' of old,'
even thus early there was a shadow of awe upon his
young spirit ; and he delighted to turn the conversation
to sacred things.2 If at any time it happened that his
father was absent at the usual hour for * family worship,'
— and in the godly weaver's home ' prayer was the
key o' the morning and the lock o' the nicht,' as the
old Scottish proverb runs, — Michael, by the common
consent of the household, took his place. ' It has
been stated to the present writer,' Dr Mackelvie ob
serves, 'by a person who was once present upon an
occasion of this kind, and who was well qualified to
judge of what was becoming in such circumstances,
that he was impressed for the moment with a sense
of incongruity in a child acting as the domestic " mini
ster" in a family in which there were, at the time,

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 15. 2 Ibid.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 13

both an adult man and a matron •, but that, before the
boy had concluded the service, he was so struck \vith
the propriety of his language, the variety of scriptural
allusions, the suitableness of the petitions, and the so
lemnity of the manner, that he could hardly permit him
self to believe that the boy whom he saw before him
really uttered the prayer which he heard."

Spite of the hindrances from sickness and ' herding,'
Michael had no difficulty in making up lost ground at
school ; and indeed it was commonly seen that his class-
fellows soon lagged behind him. All who were his
associates at school agreed in ascribing an unaccountable
' weight ' and influence to all he said and did. It was a
common saying, that Michael's word was of as great
authority as the Master's. The quarrelsome were
abashed by his look ; the injured fled to him for
help ; he was the decider of all disputes. It is un
speakably touching to find the loving way in which
Arnot, and Pearson, and Birrel, and others of his
school-mates, in long after years, spoke of him. At
home the same indefinable deference was paid to him.
He was a /rf, but not spoiled. ' He was,' finely re
marks his Biographer, already quoted, ' the Joseph of the
family, without provoking the envy of his brethren.'*

Altogether, not without reason has he been regarded
as one who might have sat for Beanie's ' Minstrel : '

. . . ' Poor Edwin was no vulgar boy,
Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye ;
Daintk-s he heeded not, nor gaud, nor toy,
Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy.

' ' Dr Mackclvie. as be/ore, p. 16. * Ibut.

i4 THE WORKS OF

Silent when glad, affectionate though shy,

And now his look was most demurely sad,

And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why ;

And neighbours stared, and sighed, and blessed the lad ;

Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad.'1

All this will have prepared the reader for a decision
which was arrived at, not without prayer, when Michael
was in his eleventh year, viz., that he should be edu
cated for the office of the holy ' ministry,' — a worthy
ambition of many of the very humblest ranks in Scot
land, and which has furnished some of the sturdiest
heads and most devout hearts, as well as the most
efficient ' workers,' in all the Churches. Let those who
wish to see how, when there is a ( will,' there opens
up a ' way,' read the f Life ' of Dr Robertson, the late
inestimable Leader of the recent ' Endowment Scheme '
of the 'Kirk of Scotland,' as admirably and faith
fully written by the Rev. A. H. Charteris, now of
Glasgow ;2 and in reading it, they will read of just
such an upward struggle as Michael Bruce had to
maintain, though without the thews and vis of the
peasant-son of Aberdeenshire. Again, I must protest
against misdirected sentiment and pity in this matter. A
lad who has manhood and Christianhood is all the better
of such ' hardness ' and contending. It is mere puling
and unmanly weakness, to make a to-do about the self-
denial, the vexations, the ' worry,' the inequalities, that
have to be endured by those who go out into the
world's arena from the humble hut, and wholly thrown
upon their own resources. The discipline welds the

1 Book i. Stanza xvi. 2 One vol. 8vo. Blackwood.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 15

character, if there be substance in it — strengthens, not
weakens •, and the issue, under the divine blessing,
makes success all the finer and nobler. As a rub, your
* young men ' who have had parents to do all for them,
turn out inferior stuff, and in the work-a-day world go
down where the poverty -inured advances buoyant to
the conflict. Michael Bruce had neither less nor more
to contend with than hundreds of others at the present
day. Not his ' indigence/ not his ' hardships,' barbed
the arrow that laid him low ; but his infirm, ' con
sumptive' constitution — a heritage that had worked to
the same mournful end had he been dandled on the
knee of fortune. To hear some men speak, one would
suppose that there are no away-goings on 'the far
journey' by Michael Bruces, whose cradles were
rocked in palaces, and who through their whole days
were fenced and guarded, that 'the winds of heaven
might not visit their cheeks too roughly.' As with his
life-start from a ' weaver's ' house, — not lowlier than
that in Henley Street, Stratford-on-Avon, — so with his
life-progress, by far too much has been made of Brace's
difficulties.

Having decided to 'prepare* for college, Michael, in
association with the children of ' portioners ' in the
parish, and a son of the village teacher, Mr Dun, who
was an excellent classic, 'gave himself' to the acquisi
tion of Latin. The tradition is, that he was always
' dux ' in the class, and that Latin came to him as had
his mother-tongue. One of his ' fellows ' was a son of
Mr David Arnot, proprietor of Portmoak. They were
as twin-brothers ; but their friendship was prematurely

1 6 THE WORKS OF

broken up by the death of William while at school.
He is the ' Daphnis ' of an elegy written four years sub
sequently. Our photograph shows his ' grave ' in the
lonely churchyard, on the margin of * Lochleven.' The
removal of this youth, who seems to have been a sin
gularly interesting l boy,' moved Bruce deeply. The
father was a man of fine character, of rare sagacity,
and, in his circumstances, of rarer culture. To him it
was Michael Bruce was indebted for his first introduc
tion to Shakespeare, Pope, Young, and other of the
great names of our country. The death of William, so
far from sundering Mr Arnot and the now * student,'
appears to have drawn them closer and kindlier together.
To the end they corresponded ; and many an unosten
tatious * present' witnessed to the thoughtfulness and
tenderness of ' the laird's ' regard. All honour to the
memory of the Arnots of Portmoak !

When Michael had reached his fifteenth year, the
' village class ' was broken up ; one of its members, as
we have seen, being dead ; one, young Dun, had left for
College ; and others were variously entered on their
various avocations. The question was, to which Uni
versity he should go. It is said that his first intention
was to offer himself as a candidate for a ' bursary ' or
scholarship in St Andrews j but a companion of his
own having been excluded from the competition, Bruce,
suspecting that his connection with ' The Secession '
Church had operated against him, resolved, rather than
hazard rejection, not to apply. His thoughts were next
directed to Edinburgh. In the interval he employed
himself at leisure hours in transcribing large portions

MICHAEL BRUCB. 17

lilton and of Thomson ; and he was * imping
ing for larger flight* than he had yet indulged.
While he was still somewhat uncertain as to the future
leaving the village school, a letter came to his
father, informing him that a relative had died, and be
queathed him 200 merks Scots (£ll, 2s. 2d.).s It was
received as a direct ' gift ' from God. It was at once
4 separated ' to Michael's use -, and he proceeded to
enrol himself as a student in the University of Edin
burgh. His unfailing friend, Mr Arnot of Portmoak,
declared his readiness to render what assistance lay in
his power ; and the monthly ' chest,' as it passed from
Kin ness wood to Edinburgh, showed that he did not
fail of his promise ; for there went in it now a little
1 kit ' of sweet butter, and now a dozen new-laid eggs,
even well-nigh all the presents to David at Mahanaim —
' honey, and butter, and sheep, and cheese of kine'
(2 Sam. xvil 29).

Dr Mackelvie states his inability, from the loss of his
college tickets, to give the classes attended by Bruce ;
i examination of the Matriculation Album of the
University has furnished us with his first entry, viz.,
under date lyth December 1762, in the ' Greek* class,
under Professor Robert Hunter. . His signature is ex
ceedingly neat and careful, and contrasts with others
on the same page. Along with him there appear the
names of ' John Logan ' and ' William Dryburgh.'
Under date 1763 his signature again appears, — John
Stevenson, Professor « Rationalis Philosophic ,' />. of Logic,
— and once more Logan and Dryburgh are found on

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 29.
B

1 8 THE WORKS OF

the same page. His signature this time is larger than in
1762, but is equally neat, as our frontispiece fac-similes
beneath the Letter show.

The enrolment in what is now called the * Matricula
tion Album' of the University must then have been
voluntary, not, as now, compulsory ; as, while it is
known that Bruce attended four years or sessions, the
above two are the only occurrences of his signature.
Moreover, a final search and scrutiny revealed that neither
Mr George Henderson of Turf hills, afterwards the Rev.
George Henderson, of what is now the United Pres
byterian congregation ' Greyfriars,' Glasgow,1 nor Mr
George Lawson, afterwards Professor Lawson, of Sel
kirk, — a prodigy of learning, and a venerable man,2 —
enrolled themselves. The name of Mr David Greig,
afterwards the Rev. David Greig of Lochgelly, appears
in 1764 in the * Greek' class. The only other notice
able ' students ' of the period that I have come upon
are 'Dugald Stewart' (1765 and 1767), afterwards the
eminent Professor of ' Moral Philosophy ' in the Uni
versity ; and ' William Smellie' (1762), one of the stur
diest of Scottish thinkers.3

There are very few memorials of Bruce's progress
and position in the University ; but the above fellow-

1 We have been favoured with the use of a copy of a privately printed volume
in memoriam of this good man. It is called, ' Discourses of the Rev. George
Henderson, Minister of the Associate Congregation, Shuttle Street, Glasgow ;
with a Prefatory Notice by his son, George Henderson. For private distribu
tion. Glasgow, 1859.' He died on 5th December 1784.

2 The ' Life ' of Lawson has been at last written by Dr John Macfarlane of
London, i vol. crown 8vo. 1862.

3 I have to acknowledge the kindness of Mr Smith, Secretary of the University,
in allowing me to go through the ' Registers ' of the period, and for the permission
to take our fac-similes.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 19

students, Henderson and Greig and Lawson, were wont
in after years to speak of him with enthusiasm.

Dr Anderson thus summarizes his course from
mporaries : — ' He applied himself to the several
branches of literature and philosophy with remarkable
assiduity and success. Of the Latin and Greek lan
guages he acquired a masterly knowledge •, and he
eminent progress in Metaphysics, Mathematics, and
Moral and Natural Philosophy. But the Belles Lett res
was his favourite pursuit, and poetry his darling study/'

It is remembered that Bruce became a member of a
literary society that met once a-week during the sitting
of the College. The laws of the association required
each member to read an essay in turn to the meeting.
But Michael preferred verse to prose ; and his poem of
'The Last Day,'— only in occasional lines successful, —
is understood to have been one of his exercises. His
Fable of 'The Eagle, Crow, and Shepherd,' as ex
plained in the place, was another.

We catch a vanishing glimpse of his bookish tastes
in another fragment of a letter to his friend Mr Arnot :
—[Edinburgh, November 27, 1764.] 'I daily meet
with proofs that money is a necessary evil. When in
an auction, I often say to myself, How happy should
I be if I had money to purchase such a book ! How
well should my library be furnished ! " Nisi obstat res
angusta domi."

' " My lot forbids, nor circumscribes alone

My growing virtues, but my crimes confines.'"

He proceeds : ' Whether any virtues would have ac-

1 As before, p. 274.

ao THE WORKS OF

companied me in a more elevated station, is uncertain ;
but that a number of vices, of which my sphere is
incapable, would have been its attendants, is unquestion
able. The Supreme Wisdom has seen this meet, and
the Supreme Wisdom cannot err.'1

Let there be no < whimpering ' over ' indigence,' etc.
etc. etc., again, from this text. All who have them
selves been students know how ' tempting ' a book auc
tion is ; and how spendthriftly often one is led to buy
and buy that which a little self-denial had enabled us to
resist with gain, not loss.

That Michael Bruce had this f weakness,' is evidenced
by the singularly beautiful copies of the classics — nearly
all Elzevirs — and other books which he secured ; and
specially from his committing to the furtive care of Mr
Arnot of Portmoak his copies of Shakespeare and of
Pope, which he wished hidden from his worthy father,
not because they were Shakespeare and Pope, but
because he had indulged his Bibliomania in purchasing
' splendid copies ' of what were already available to him,
either in his own home-shelves or at his friend's of
Portmoak.2 All his books that remain are beautiful
copies, of the finest editions. I have his fair vellum-
bound ' Greek Testament,' in selected sections ; and the
Rev. Thomas Swan of Muirton has his Lactantius,
with this inscription on the title-page : ' Michael Brusius

1 As before, pp. 274, 275.

2 Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 5, 6, has conclusively removed the charge of
' illiberality' from Alexander Bruce, as made in the 'Penny Cyclopaedia,' in the
Memoir of Bruce. 'The fear of a discovery' intimated, is explained above ; and
the young Poet's penchant will not be hardly regarded by those who know the
luxury of the indulgence.

MICHAEL BRUCE. ai

jure cmptionis tenet hunc librum. Edinr Martii 10°^
1763*'°' ;' also his Josephus, by Stoer.

like many other students in his circumstances, then
as now, at the close of each Session of College, he had
to look out for employment, toward replenishing his
purse, and preparing for the demands of another Winter.
In the earlier Summers he resided chiefly with Mr
Arnot, and Mr White of Fittendreich ; and was con
stantly engaged, spite of depression of spirits and head
ache, in wooing the Muses.

Later, under date ' March 27,' dies natalit 1765, we
find him on the outlook for a School. Writing from
Edinburgh to Mr Arnot, he says : ' I am in great con
cern just now for a school. When I was over last,
there was a proposal made by some people of these
to keep one at Gairney Bridge. How it may
turn out I cannot tell.'1

The ' School ' herein referred to had been commenced
by Mr John Brown, afterwards Professor John Brown,
of Haddington — c/arum ft wncrabile nomtn. It had gone
down after his departure, on entering upon his ministry.*
But it was re-established, and Bruce entered upon its
duties. Our photograph shows it as it now appears, in
all probability little changed ; just such a rustic nest
as WILLIAM SHENSTONE saw at Hales Owen, and made
immortal in his 'Schoolmistress.' The present Writer
has the pleasure of conducting public worship once a
month within it, besides a Sunday School established;
and long may the spot so hallowed by memories of the

1 See Appendix A to our Memoir for another and hitherto unpublished letter of
Bruce'*.
3 Sec Life of Dr Brown ; and Dr Mackclvie, as before, p. 47-

a a THE WORKS OF

f Founders ' of ' The Secession,' — who held their first
Presbytery in a little ' Hostelry ' here, now removed, —
of JOHN BROWN of Haddington, of MICHAEL BRUCE,
and of JOHN BURT, — the last a ' man of God,' who l^ept
a Sunday School here for many years, and the savour
of whose name is as ' ointment poured forth ' to this
day, — abide as it at present is.1

We have various interesting glimpses of Bruce while
engaged at < Gairney Bridge ' School. First of all, there
is still in the possession of the Laird of Anacroich, or
Annafrech (Henry Flockhart, Esq.), a versified petition
from the Poet to his ancestor. Here it is, with Dr Mac-
kelvie's remarks : —

' The school was kept in an old cottage which hap
pened to be previously untenanted. A few deals laid
on blocks of wood sufficed for forms, and an old table
served as writing-desk. This latter article of furniture
was so frail, that before the first month transpired, in
which it had been so used, it was damaged beyond repair.
Upon this disaster the poet addressed the following letter
to Mr Flockhart, proprietor of the lands of Annafrech,
who took the active management of the school : —

<"SiR, — The following will inform you that we are
in a tdbleless condition (if you will excuse the novelty of
the word), which I desire you to take into consideration.
I was about to say a great many fine things on the sub
ject, but I find they are all slipt out of my head. To
your wife and brother make the compliments of, —
yours sincerely, MICHAEL BRUCE.'"

1 John Burt was an elder of what is now known as the First United Presby
terian congregation, Kinross.

MICHAEL BRUCE. aj

THE FALL OP THE TABLE.

thin this school a table once there stood—
It was not iron— No ! 'twas rotten wood.
Four generations it on earth had seen —
A ship's old planks composed the huge machine.
Perhaps that ship in which Columbus hurl'd
Saw other stars rise on another world, —
Or that which bore, along the dark profound,
From pole to pole, the valiant Drake around. —
Tho' miracles long since were laid to cease,
Three weeks— thrice seven long days — it stood in peace ;
Upon the fourth, a warm debate arose,
Managed by words and more emphatic blows ;
• The routed party to the table fled,

ch seemed to offer a defensive shade.
Thus, in the town, I've seen, when rains descend,

•re arched porticoes their shades extend,
Papists and gifted Quakers, Tories, Whigs,
Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs —
Men born in India, men in Europe bred,
Commence acquaintance in a mason's shed.
Thus they ensconc'd beneath the table lay, —
With shouts the victors rush upon the prey, —
Attack 'd the rampart where they shelter took.
With firing battered, and with engines shook,

11. The mighty ruins strew the ground.

11 ! The mountains tremble at the sound.
But to what end (say you) this trifling tale ?
Perhaps, sir, man as well as wood is frail. —
Perhaps his life can little more supply,
" Than just to look about us and to die." '

'GAIRNIE BRIDGE,
Jtau 17, 1765.'

' I hare had Dr Mackelvie's T«*»on compared with the original MS. through
the kindness of Mr FlockharL A number of mistakes haw been thereby cor
rected I »m nuich iixfcbted to Mr Hockhart b allowing a f^-siinik to be Ukcn
of the Letter prefixed to the above petition.

24 THE WORKS OF

From his gentle disposition his friends feared that
Bruce lacked the necessary firmness for the discipline of
a School. Accordingly his fellow-student and friend
Dryburgh wrote him certain counsels, which we may
read : —

' Now that you have taken up a school, I beg to
remind you that you are a pedagogue — neither be too
gentle nor too severe. The one treatment is as bad as
the other ; but if there be any difference, I think indul
gence the worse of the two. But, on the other hand,
there are many who, professing to whip blockheads,
ought to undergo a similar punishment for being one
themselves — to whom the words of Solomon, which
Dean Swift once chose for his text, may be very well
applied, "Stripes are for the back of fools."' These
sentiments were still further enforced in a letter sent
him, about the same time, by his more experienced
friend Arnot. 'The energies of the young,' says he,
' will be sure to lie dormant, if they be not roused by
those to whom their training is entrusted, as most soils
are barren without cultivation. But there is much need
of prudence, for, as some ground requires the stronger
plough, another plot may be managed by an easy hand.
With some, force must be used ; forbearance must be
employed towards others. You have the advantage of
spurring them up by emulation, which seldom fails, but
which, at the same time, does not always succeed. By
this common impulse I could not be affected.'1

It appears that these excellent ' counsels ' were very

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 52 ; and see Appendix B to our Memoir for the
entire Letter, along with another, from the original MS.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 15

much thrown away, in so far as the ' rod ' and ' taws '
were concerned, as Bruce never could be induced to
use either.

• school was not large. About two months after
its re-establishment, there were only twenty-eight pupils.
A ' Dialogue ' written by the poet-teacher has been
preserved ; and while there are in it evident humorous
touches, verging on caricature, it is nevertheless plain
that the fees were trifling, and not very willingly paid
by certain of the parents. One is gladdened to find that
the cloud of melancholy which brooded over him was not
without its silver lining of a quiet, ' pawky ' mirthfulness.
pleasant to think of the worn face, ' sicklied o'er
with the pale cast of thought/ illumined by the gentle
smile that accompanies felt power of insight into cha
racter, especially pretenct. Here is the ' Dialogue : ' —

' As I was about to enter on my labours for the
week, an old fellow like a Quaker came up and ad
dressed me thus : —

' Q. Peace be with you, friend.

4 M. Be you also safe.

* Q. 1 have brought my son Tobias to thee, that thou
mayest instruct him in the way that he should go.

' M . He is welcome.

' Q. Our brother Jacob telleth me that thou showest
thyself a faithful workman, hearing thy scholars oftener
in a day than others, because thou hast few.

' M. I presume I do.

1 Q. Verily therein thou doest well ; thou shalt not
lose thy reward -, it shall be given thee with the faithful
in their day.

26 THE WORKS OF

( M. Ay, but, friend, I need somewhat in present
possession.

' Q. I understand you ; thou wouldst have the prayers
of the faithful.

' M. Ay, and something more substantial ; in short,
my friend, I must have two shillings per quarter for
teaching your son Tobias.

' Q. Ah ! friend, I perceive thou lovest the mammon
of unrighteousness ; let me convince you of your sin.

' M. Certainly, since thou seemest to be a most right
eous man, who deemeth the servant worthy of his hire.

' Q. Hearken unto my voice ; Ezekiel, who was also
called Holdfast, took but sixpence in the quarter, as
thou callest it. He was a good man, but he sleepeth ;
the faithful mourned for him. He catechized the chil
dren seven times a-day. He was one of the righteous,
yea, he was upright in his day, save in the matter
of

' M. I still think that the labour you expect me to
bestow upon your son Tobias is worth two shillings a
quarter.

' Q. Two shillings ! verily, friend, thou art an extor
tioner ; yea, thou grindest the face of the poor, thou
lovest filthy lucre. Thou hast respect unto this present
world. — Cetera desunt^

' Elia ' had laid up the quaint little paper in an inner
place of that wizard Memory of his, and produced it,
with added puns and quips, to ' set the table in a roar.'
But while Bruce had apparently slender pecuniary re
compense for his * teaching,' otherwise he was comfort-

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 54, 55.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 17

ably situated. It had been agreed that, in addition to
the school fees, and in place of salary, he was to reside
and receive free-board with the more 'bien* parents
of the children. Accordingly, he went to Classlochic,
a firm then possessed by a Mr Grieve, — a man of
excellent Christian character, who was so 'taken* by
his guest, that he would not hear of his leaving him
to go elsewhere during the whole period he taught at
Gairney Bridge.

We revisited the ' farm ' the other day, and found it to
be a pleasant residence. It was conveniently near ' the
school,' and the roads leading to and out from it are
like the English lanes of Miss Mitford's ' Our Village '
itself, — odorous hedgerows on either side, and many a
fair wild-flower nestling at the roots. The ' Gairney '
glints in silvery windings through the fields on its way
to ' Lochleven.' Eastward was his own native Kinness-
wood. Southward rises Benarty, darkened with plan
tations — pine and spruce, and sprinkling of birch, with
scintillating bark and quivering leafage, tenderly green
in spring, and many-dyed in autumn as a New England
' wood ' in the Indian summer. All round about were
good neighbours ; and every ' farmer's ingle ' gave
hospitable welcome to the shy, gentle Student-Teacher.
Tradition garners memories of visits at ' The Bracldeys '
and * Cavilstone,' « Annafrech ' and ' Turf hills.'

In each of these ' farms ' were to be found fine
specimens of the old type of gcottiah 'laird-,' some
naturally ' wild,' perchance, but subdued and well-nigh
reverential in the presence of Michael.

But the old, old story came in to play its part also in

28 THE WORKS OF

the residence at Classlochie. Mr Grieve had a daughter
— Magdalene ; and the young Poet loved her fondly,
but with ' silent love.' She is the ' Eumelia ' of his
' Lochleven,' and the ' fair maid ' of his * Lochleven no
more.' Magdalene Grieve survived her lover, and
became the wife of Mr David Low, proprietor of Cleish
Mill and Wester Cleish, in the neighbourhood. She
was wont to speak of Bruce with touching affection,
but always declared that he had never ' asked ' her. Ex
cessive modesty, and a presentiment that his days were
numbered, have been assigned as reasons for his leaving
unspoken a love that seems to have been burning in its
shy passionateness, and enduring to the end of his brief
life. A stanza, by a well-known local character, in
tended to immortalize this love-story, is still in circula
tion in the county. It is as follows :

' In Cleish Kirk-yard lies Magdalene Grieve,
A lass [sweetheart] o' Bruce the Poet ;
And Tammie Walker made this verse,
To let the world know it.' *

While at Gairney Bridge, he contemplated the publi
cation of a volume of * Poems ; ' but this I leave to be
spoken of in the second division of our Memoir, in the
Introduction to his 'Poems.' One short and hitherto
unpublished letter to Mr Arnot, dated from Gairney
Bridge, may fitly close our account of his connection
therewith. It is as follows : —

'My DEAR SIR, — I have sent the letter which you have
undertaken to carry spite of disappointments. It is open,
but I believe the pleasure of reading it will not pay the

1 Communicated by Mr David Marshall, as before.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 29

trouble of carrying it. I do not choose to send a blank
: therefore this (as I shall endeavour to fill it up
somehow) shall never be called in question as to its
Ictter-ality, that is to say, a return shall be due in law,
and that [such as] it shall pass for an identical letter.

' I have been reading Shaftesbury's Characteristics, and
shall transcribe for you what I think the best note I have
found in it ; and it's this :

"'It seems to me remarkable in our learned and elegant
apostle, that he accommodates himself, according to his
known character, to the humour and natural turn of the
Ephesians, by writing to his converts in a kind of
architect-style, and almost with a perpetual allusion to
building, and to that majesty, order, and beauty of which
this temple was a masterpiece ; as Eph. ii. 20-22 ; and
so iii. 17, 1 8, etc., and iv. 1 6, etc." This is not a bad
remark from one whom, notwithstanding my deference
for the moderns, I look upon as little better than a deist.

• I was about to entertain you with a character, not
altogether unknown to you, of a talker or story-teller ;
but I do not choose, merely for a little diversion, to deserve
the reprehension of any person living.

' I would have seen you this day (only I was troubled
with a pain in the head), and perhaps I may see you as
soon as this. I am yours affectionately,

' MICHAEL BRUCE.

'GAIRNY BRIDGE, May 75, 1765.

' P.S. — You may put to a date to the letter when you
close it.'1

1 From the original, kindly sent me with others from the present Mr Arnot of
PortflKMk, or, as Bruce spells it invariably, ' Portmoag.'

30 THE WORKS OF

Having finished his * four years ' of attendance at the
University, he was now at that stage in his curriculum
of study which naturally led to his passing from the
University to what was then, and still is, designated
the ' Theological Hall,' entrance into which constituted
him a ' student of divinity,' as distinguished from a
' student of humanity.' There was a difficulty in the
way, to wit, that along with his father and mother,
and other relatives and friends, he had hitherto attended
the Rev. Thomas Mair, who, after his ejection from the
Anti-Burgher Synod, stood alone. He had indeed applied
for admission to the * Moral Philosophy ' class of the
Anti-Burgher Synod at Alloa ; but his connection with
Mair was deemed an insuperable barrier. He turned
next to the Burghers, or Associate Synod, with whose
attitude toward what was called the ' Burgess Oath ' he
sympathized, rather than with the narrower * Antis.' He
was accordingly admitted to the fellowship of the Church
by the Rev. John Swanston of Kinross, who had been
recently appointed Professor of Theology by the Synod,
and into whose classes he was afterwards enrolled as a
student. At the 'Hall,' which was held in the large room
of what is now the ' Lochleven Inn ' in Kinross, and of
which our photograph gives a faithful presentment, he
had, as fellow-students, George Henderson of Turf hills,
David Greig, George Lawson, Ar. Bennet, and An
drew Swanston, with others who in after years emi
nently filled the pulpits of the Burgher Synod.

Professor Swanston was a man of no ordinary kind,
full, wise, scholarly, evangelical in his opinions, but rising
above mere orthodoxy, fatherly in his superintendence,

MICH4EL BRUCE. 31

and above all, attractive as a Christian to the young : in
his whole ' walk and conversation ' emphatically ' com
mending ' Christ, and ' adorning the doctrine.'

m the outset the Professor was drawn to MICHAEL
i:f who got ' far ben* into his large loving heart, and
was treated rather as a young brother or son than a mere
Church member or student. That delicacy of constitution
which he inherited, it is believed, from his father, showed
itself very mournfully during his first Session at the Hall ;
so much so, that good Professor Swanston advised the
ailing lad to give over study altogether for a time. But
he persevered, fought on, though wounded and bleeding
inwardly. For he was wounded : ' He had weakened his
strength in the midst of his days.'

The arrangements made for the ' students,' if a primi
tive, was an exceedingly agreeable one for them. In the
congregation of the Professor there were a number of
Proprietors of lesser or larger ' Farms,' and otherwise
well-to-do. These received the young men into their
several houses in the character of friends, without any
remuneration further than the satisfaction of thereby
rendering service to the future ministers of their beloved
Church. In accord with this arrangement, Bruce resided,
during his attendance at the Hall, with Mr Henderson,
the * Laird ' of Turf hills, whose son George we have
already had occasion to mention as his associate at the
University, and who is celebrated in * Lochleven ' under
the name of * Lelius.'

The compact little estate of Turfhills, which is still in

t succession held by Hendersons, had come down

through many generations of the name, long known in

3 a TEE WORKS OF

the county as freeholders, and of the old stock of
Covenanters. It is told in the family, that Michael
Henderson, in 1715, came forward in Kinross to sup
port the government of George n. ; and that thereby
he excited the rage of the rebels then in the town, so
much so, that he had to take refuge in the Castle of
Edinburgh until Mar's rebellion was put down. Again
in 1745, when the second Rebellion under Prince
Charles brought a host of Highlanders to the low
country, James Henderson rescued a neighbour from a
savage attack of two of these Highlanders, and con
ducted them to Kinross, where they were reprimanded
by their officers, and the plunder restored. In the
evening, a messenger despatched from the town an
nounced that a party of Highlanders were on their way
to avenge their comrades. Thus warned, ' the Laird '
fled to Stirling, where he remained until the Stuarts were
finally scattered at Culloden. There are other traditions
of ' hairbreadth escapes,' of Christina Arnot of Arlary,
wife of James Henderson, and her infant son, afterwards
the Rev. George Henderson. The Hendersons were
not only loyal to the Government, not only ' honoured
the King,' but at a cold ' moderate ' period ' feared God'
At the time of the noble stand for the ' true Evangel,'
made by the Erskines and their compeers, as was to be
expected, James Henderson adhered to them ; and at
the very first meeting at * Gairney Bridge ' was chosen
as an ' elder.' All the preliminary * meetings ' — and they
were numerous — were held at Turf hills ; so much so, that
one room in the mansion-house — shown in our photo
graph — was known as ' the Presbytery's room.' Many

MICHAEL BRUCE. 33

a heartfelt prayer, many * wrestlings ' for the welfare of
Scotland, many burning words to Christ for souls, and
to souls for Christ, were spoken from one of the open
'windows,' — hundreds, even thousands, coining from
nd near* to hang upon the lips of such men as
Ebenezer Erskine of Stirling, Ralph Erskinc of Dun-
fermline, Thomas Mair of Orwell, James Fisher of
Kinclaven, William Wilson of Perth, and Alexander
MoncriefT of Abernethy, — a noble band, to whom Scot
land owes more than ever will be known until ' the
great Day.'

It was into this Family — one of the old stamp of
'godliness,' kingly men and mother-of-Lemuel-like
women — that Michael Bruce was received. It must
have had peculiar attractions to him. There were the
traditions of 'The Covenanters;' there was a heredi
tary taste for ballad-lore and the ' auld manners ' of
' auld langsyne ;' there was generous hospitality ; there
was a fellow-student like-minded •, and above all and
about all as an atmosphere, real godliness of no austere
but contrariwise joyous sort.1 Altogether, whether in
the outset with Mr Arnot of Portmoak, and Mr White
of 1 Attend reich, or while at Gairney Bridge with Mr
1 e of Classlochie, or while at the Hall with this
grand old Scotchman and his no less noble wife — be
fore whom we bare instinctively the head — James Hen
derson and Christian Arnot, — MICHAEL BRUCE seems

1 I have gathered the details of the text from the volume in memoriam of the
Rev. George Henderson, already mentioned ; and from the MS. ' Records' of Pro
fessor Swanston'* congregation, now in my possession, as the minister thereof,
together with gleanings from the History of ' The Secession,' and the Lives of the
several Leaden in that great evangelical movement

C

34 THE WORKS OF

to have been singularly fortunate in his circumstances.
I must regard it as sheer nonsense to sentimentalize over
' pressure of indigence,' and the like. Sure we are, the
student-Poet had been the first to reject such misdirected
commiseration. At no time, as it appears to us, had
MICHAEL BRUCE to struggle with a tithe of the difficulties
which many of his contemporaries had : not to speak of
the present day, wherein brave-hearted, large-faithed
young men are doing stout battle up ' the hill Difficulty,'
with none to cheer save ' the great Taskmaster.' It
looks to us unmanly exaltation of circumstances over
the man, to make such a to-do about them, even had they
been very much more adverse. It seems to us to under
value the divine * discipline ' of self-denial, — the glorious
necessity, through a trustful poverty that is not ignoble,
of reposing on the Fatherhood of God.

While at Turfhills it is traditionally remembered that
Michael Bruce and George Henderson, and other fellow-
students, were wont to take frequent walks along ' the
Kirk-gate ' to the ' Auld Kirk- Yard ' of the Parish —
shown in our photograph ; and to recite their Hall * Ser
mons ' and other exercises on a small elevation near
Turfhills, called < The Kippit Knowe.'

At the close of the Hall in 1766, Bruce was again on
the outlook for a * School ' — that of Gairney Bridge not
being sufficiently remunerative. Besides, a sad 'back
sliding ' of his substitute while he himself was attending
the prelections of Professor Swanston, distressed him ex
ceedingly, and rendered the place distasteful. One was
offered him at Forrest Mill, then a lorn and ill-favoured
place, about fifteen miles south-west of Kinross, and a

MICHAEL BRUCE. 35

from TilJicoultry. We paid a recent pilgrim-
to the spot -, and from inquiries made and faint
memories revived, can understand that to one so predis
posed to consumption, and, spite of resistance, apt to be
overcome with melancholy, it was a poor exchange for
Gairney Bridge and Classlochie. The • School ' was
low-ceiled, earthen -floored, chill, musty, dose. Outside,
dreary spaces of moor flushed with 'heather,' skirted
with sombre pines, — the 'wild ' of his 'Elegy in Spring.'
Society uncongenial ; children dense, stupid, backward.
The only ray of sun-light was the wistful care of him
by a daughter of the family with whom he lodged, whose
name was Mill.

Tradition has it, that Bruce, in fording the Devon on
horseback on his way to Forrest Mill, was thrown, and
though not hurt in limb was wet 'all through,' and arrived
drenched, so that he had at once to be put a-bed. He
soon rose and began his ' School ;' and it is told of Miss
Mill, that she saw that it was as well ' warmed ' as
might be before the Teacher entered, and that ' boards '
were placed on the ground where his feet rested, to keep
them from the clammy floor. But all was in vain.
' Disease ' was working out to the last issue -, all the
more touching, that it was what the great Poet has called
' CONCEALMENT,* which, ' like a worm i' the bud, feeds on
the damask cheek.' And yet ' Concealment ' is scarcely
cither the word or thing, inasmuch as Bruce seems
from the outset to have looked forward to early dying.1

1 I would return thanks to the present Teacher at Forrest Mill, Mr Alexander
Fortune, for his kind attention in the above visit, in tracing out traditional scenes
connected with Bruce.

36 THE WORKS OF

A few of his ' Letters ' from * Forrest Mill ' have been
preserved, and put into my hands. They are none the
less pathetic from their slight out-flashings of humour.
First of all : I am fortunate enough to have recovered
one complete Letter that has hitherto only been given
in fragments.1 The opening allusion is to ' stocking-
knitting,' which was then practised by males as well as
females, as Geikie has immortalized : —

' DEAR FRIEND, — What has happen'd to you, that I
don't hear from you ? Surely you have forgot me.
No, I cannot think so, for I measure your friendship
by my own ; and barely to say I love you, were poor
to my soul's measuring.

' I rather think my evil genius has hindered you from
writing, or what you may have written from reaching
me. Well, be it so. For once I shall consider I have
more time than you. But I beseech, request, and com
mand (d5 ye see ?) that you set apart a night every week
for writing to me. Out of my sovereign, royal bounty,
I will allow you the others, at least four of them, for
seeing the I[assie1s, always providing that you carry your
stocking with you to enable you to purchase candles.
But, trifling apart, write as often as your situation will
allow. I have not many friends, but I love them well.
Scarce one enjoys the smiles of this world in every respect,
and in every friend I suffer. Death has been among
the few I have. Poor Dryburgh ; but he's happy. I
expected to have been his companion through life, and
that we should have stept into the grave together. But

1 I am indebted for it to the Rev. William M'Laren of Blairlogie, who discovered
it among some family papers.

MICHJEL BRUCE. 37

Heaven has seen meet to dispose of him otherwise.
And there's my dear Geordie, perhaps at this moment
(for I have not heard from him of late) in the grasp of
death. May " the good will of Him who dwelt in the
be with him ! Alas, that I can do no more than
' But who in this case can do more ? What
think you of this world, Da vie ? I think it very little
worth. You and I have not a great deal to make us fond
and yet I would not change my condition with the
most wealthy unfeeling fool in the universe, if I were to
have his dull hard heart into the bargain. Bat to have
done. Farewell, my rival in immortal hope, my com
panion (I trust) for eternity. Though far distant, I take
thee to my heart. Souls suffer no separation from the
obstruction of matter or distance of place. Oceans may
roll between us, and climates interpose -, in vain, the
whole material creation is no bar to the winged mind.
Farewell, through boundless ages, fare-thou-well. The
broad hand of the Almighty cover thee. Mayst thou
shine when the sun is darkened. Mayst thou live, and
triumph when time expires. // is at least passible ive
may meet no more in this foreign land, this dreary apart
ment of the universe of God. But there is a better
world, in which may we meet to part no more. — Adieu.
Remember your sincerest friend,

' MICHAEL BRUCE.

•To Mr DAVID PEARSON, Easter Balgedie.'

Ail his 'correspondence* that remains runs in the
same vein : nor is the vcining superficial like the painted

3 8 THE WORKS OF

imitative marble ; rather is it interpenetrative as in the
stone itself. Writing to Mr Pearson again, he says :

' The next letter you receive from me, if ever you re
ceive another, will be dated 1767. ... I lead a melan
choly kind of life in this place. I am not fond of com
pany. But it is not good that man be still alone ; and
here I have no company but what is worse than solitude.
If I had not a lively imagination, I believe I should fall
into a state of stupidity and delirium. I have some
evening scholars, the attending on whom, though few,
so fatigues me, that the rest of the night I am quite dull
and low-spirited. Yet I have some lucid intervals, in the
time of which I can study pretty well.' z

Another * Letter,' of a somewhat earlier date, to his
friend Arnot of Portmoak is tinged with even a deeper
despondency :2

'DEAR SIR, — It is an observation of some of your
philosophers, that it is much better for man to be ignorant
of, than to know the future incidents of his life ; for,
says one, if some men were beforehand acquainted with
the terrible miseries that await them, they would be as
miserable in fearing (and I believe more so) than in suffer
ing. Again, when we are in expectation of any good,
we paint all the agreeable to ourselves, and dwell in
fancy on it ; nor can we be convinced, but by experience,
that everything here is of a mixed nature. When this
so long expected convenience arrives, we can scarce
believe it [is] what we hoped for, and, in truth, it is

1 Dr Anderson, as before, p. 277.

z The original is now before me, and it is given for the first time accurately and
in its complete form.

MICHJBL BRUCE. 39

different. Many a disappointment of this kind have
I met with. What I enjoyed of anything was always
in the hope of it. I expected to be happy here, but I
am not ; and my sanguine hopes are the reason of my
disappointment. The easiest part of my life is past, and
I was never happy. I sometimes compare my condition
with that of others, and imagine if I was in theirs I should
be well. But is not everybody thus ? Perhaps he whom
I envy thinks he would be glad to change with me, an .1
yet neither would be better for the change. Since it is
so, let us, my friend, moderate our hopes and fears,
resign ourselves to the will of Him who " doth all
things well," and who hath assured us that He careth
for us ; and rejoice in hope of the glory that is to be
revealed, and which will infinitely surpass our greatest
expectations.

. . . . " Hoc res est una
Solaque qui fecere possit el aervare beatum."

Things are not very well in this world, but they are
pretty well. They might have been worse ; and, as
they are, may please us who have but a few short days
to use them. This scene of affairs, tho' a very per
plexed, is a very short one, and in a little all will
be cleared up. Let us endeavour to please God, our
fellow-creatures, and ourselves. In such a course of
life we shall be as happy as we can be in such a
world as this. Thus, you who cultivate your farm with
your own hands, and I who teach a dozen blockheads
for bread, may be happier than he who, having more
than he can use, tortures his brain to invent new methods

40 THE WORKS OF

of killing himself with the superfluitie. But whither do
I ramble ? I forget that I am telling you what you
know better than I do. But I must say something. I
hope to hear from you an account of your journey to
Edinr., &c.

' I have wrote a few lines of a descriptive poem, cm
titulus est ' Lochleven.' You may remember (as Mr

M r says) you hinted such a thing to me; so I have

set about it, and you may expect a dedication. I hope it
will soon be FINISHED, as I every week add two lines,
blot out six, and alter eight. You shall hear the plan
when I know it myself. My compP- to the family.
Farewell. — I am, yours, etc.

* MICHAEL BRUCE.

' FORREST MILL, July 28^, 1766.'

One leaf only of another Letter from ' Forrest Mill '
remains. The reference in the opening sentences is pro
bably to the famous or infamous treatise of De Mande-
ville, ' The Fable of the Bees, or Private Vices Public
Benefits.' This Letter — which is now published for the
first time — is also addressed to Mr Arnot of ' Portmoag.'
. . . * I think it a most dry unentertaining
oddity, wanting that which makes a number of bad
books too agreeable, I mean beauty of language. Many
have erred in their pictures of human nature, on the
favourable side, but he on the opposite. I look on it as
an attempt to prove that even God Himself, who rules
in the kingdoms of the earth, cannot promote the wealth
and strength of a nation, but by the means of luxury and
profusion, in all their most detestable branches.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 41

1m representations of men he differs very little from
the Candiduf of Voltaire, and the too witty Dr Swift's
Hughninu. But surely the contempt of the world is not
a greater virtue than the contempt of our fellow-creatures
is a vice. Dr Young has said it, and it is truth.

Like my compliments to your Family, and believe me
yours, e:

' MICHAEL BRUCE.

' FORREST MILL, Dtcr. toM, 1766.

4 P.S. — I design to be at Kinross, Sabbath next, from
whence I will send this. I will probably fetch Rollin to
Gair[ney] Brpdge], and engage J. Campbell to carry
him to you. By him you will write to me.'

Bruce's sickness, with its accompanying day-gloom,
was not all that he had to contend with. His weakness
was such that he slept but little, and his condition alto
gether was very much a reproduction of Job's : ' When
I say, My bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease
my complaint ; then thou scarest me with dreams, and
terrifiest me through visions ' (Job vii. 13, 14). Perhaps
' terrify ' is not the exact word ; but one of his ' Visions '
has been preserved in a Letter to his life-long friend
Pearson. Taking a stanza of his own tender and ex
quisitely-touched 'Elegy in Spring' as a motto, — the
' Elegy ' having also been composed at ' Forrest Mill,'—
he proceeds :

' If morning dreams presage approaching fete,

And morning dreams, as poets tell, are true,
Led by pale ghosts, I enter death's dark gate,
And bid this life and all the world adieu.

4* THE WORKS OF

' A few mornings ago, as I was taking a walk on an
eminence which commands a view of the Forth, with
the vessels sailing along, I sat down, and taking out my
Latin Bible, opened by accident at a place in the book of
Job, ix. 23, " Now my days are passed away as the
swift ships." Shutting the book, I fell a-musing on this
affecting comparison. Whether the following happened
to me in a dream or waking reverie, I cannot tell ; but
I fancied myself on the bank of a river or sea, the oppo
site side of which was hid from view, being involved in
clouds of mist. On the shore stood a multitude, which
no man could number, waiting for passage. I saw a
great many ships taking in passengers, and several per
sons going about in the garb of pilots, offering their
service. Being ignorant, and curious to know what all
these things meant, I applied to a grave old man, who
stood by, giving instructions to the departing passengers.
His name, I remember, was the Genius of Human Life.
" My son," said he, " you stand on the banks of the
stream of Time. All these people are bound for Eter
nity, that 'undiscovered country from whence no tra
veller ever returns.' The country is very large, and
divided into two parts : the one is called the Land of
Glory, the other the Kingdom of Darkness. The
names of those in the garb of pilots are Religion, Virtue,
Pleasure. They who are so wise as to choose Religion
for their guide, have a safe though frequently a rough
passage ; they are at last landed in the happy climes
where sighing and sorrow for ever flee away. They have
likewise a secondary director, Virtue, but there is a
spurious virtue who pretends to govern by himself ; but

MICHAEL BRUCE. 43

the wretches who trust to him, as well as those who
Pleasure for their pilot, are either shipwrecked, or
are cast away in the Kingdom of Darkness. But the
vessel in which you must embark approaches; you must begone.
Remember what depends upon your conduct." No
sooner had he left me, than 1 found myself surrounded
by those pilots I mentioned before. Immediately I for
got all that the old man said to me, and seduced by the
fair promises of Pleasure, chose him for my director.
We weighed anchor with a fair gale ; the sky serene,
the sea calm. Innumerable little isles lifted their green
heads around us, covered with trees in full blossom ;
dissolved in stupid mirth, we were carried on, regardless
of the past, of the future unmindful. On a sudden the
sky was darkened, the winds roared, the seas raged ;
red rose the sand from the bottom of the troubled deep.
The angel of the waters lifted up his voice. At that
instant a strong ship passed by ; I saw Religion at the
helm. " Come out from among these," he cried. I
and a few others threw ourselves out into his ship.
The wretches we left were now tost on the swelling
deep. The waters on every side poured through the
riven vessel. They cursed the Lord ; when, lo ! a
fiend rose from the deep, and, in a voice like distant
thunder, thus spoke : " I am Abaddon, the first-born
of death ; ye are my prey ; open thou, abyss, to receive
them.'* As he thus spoke they sunk, and the waves
closed over their heads. The storm was turned into a
calm, and we heard a voice saying, " Fear not, I am
\vith you. When you pass through the waters, they
shall not overflow you." Our hearts were filled with

44 THE WORKS OF

joy. I was engaged in discourse with one of my new
companions, when one from the top of the mast cried
out, " Courage, my friends, I see the fair haven, the
land that is yet afar off." Looking up, I found it was
a certain friend who had mounted up for the benefit
of contemplating the country before him. Upon seeing
you, I was so affected that I started and awaked. Fare
well, my friend, farewell/1

There must have been ' lucid intervals,' as he himself
designates them — re-luming of life's lamp of Hope —
seeing that his long poem of * Lochleven ' was com
posed while resident in ' Forrest Mill,' as appears from
the letter to Arnot of July 26th, 1766. But at last the
weaker went 'to the wall.' The 'lean fellow' who
' beats all conquerors/ threw him in the wrestle. As
he felt the shaft rankle, not without blood flowing, the
young heart yearned for home — for a mother's hand,
a mother's face, a mother's kiss, a mother's love. And
giving up ' The School,' he hied him slowly eastward
'on foot.' He walked the full twenty miles, resting
only for a little at Turfhills. He reached the humble
dwelling, not unwilling to live, but prepared to ' die.'

For a little while, through a few weeks, he was able
to go out into ' the garden/ reclining on a ' bank of
soft grass/ which until recently was pointed out. Having
also procured a quarto volume of writing paper, he with
pathetic earnestness daily transcribed his ' Poems ' therein,
including his ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' ' Hymns ' and ' Para-

1 Dr Anderson, as before, pp. 277, 278. I have said that the 'Elegy' was
composed at Forrest Mill, and this because the letter to his friend Pearson, which
contains a stanza from it, must have been written there. Pearson was resident in
Kinnesswood ; there could be no occasion for letters after Bruce had returned home.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 4J

phrases/ and ' Elegy in Spring,' and in short all that he
deemed worthy of preservation. Latterly he was alto
gether confined to bed. There his one inseparable com-
:\ was his little pocket Bible, from which he was
wont to commit portions to memory, repeating and
commenting upon them to visitors very sweetly and
modestly.

One day his old College and Hall friend, George
Lawson — who being appointed to occupy the pulpit of
the deceased Thomas Mair — hastened to Kinnesswood
to see him. He found him in bed, very pale, his eyes
large and lustrous, but delighted to see his unexpected
visitor. Mr Lawson observed to him that he was glad to
find him so cheerful. ' And why,' said he, with noble
trustfulness, ' should not a man be cheerful on the verge
of heaven ? ' an answer which reminds us of the Poet's
picture of the Christian's death-bed : —

' The chamber where the good man meets his fate
Is privileged beyond the common walks
Of virtuous life, quite on the verge of heaven.'

' But,' said his friend, ' you look so emaciated, I am
afraid you cannot last long/ Quickly, and with a flash
of the humour of his healthful days, he answered, ' You
remind me of the story of the Irishman who was told
that his hovel was about to fall ; and I answer with him,
Let it fall, it is not mine ; ' or perhaps his words were,
' it is not me" ' Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace
whose mind is stayed upon Thee.' He maintained this
cheerfulness throughout his illness, overcast only for
a moment by the sudden death of his beloved minister

1 Dr Mackclvie, as before, pp. 77, 78.

46 THE WORKS OF

and professor, Swanston ; lingered for a couple of
months, ' wearin' awa' to the land o' the leal ;' and in the
night-time, when ' deep sleep falleth upon men,' slept
the deeper sleep, being found in the morning of 5th
July 1767, dead, aged twenty-one years and three
months. ' He was not, for God took him.'

( Bewildered reader I pass without a sigh\
In a proud sorrow ! There is life with God
In other kingdoms of a sweeter air.
In Eden every flower is blown. Amen.' x

It is his own request. His Bible — which is still lovingly
preserved — was found upon his pillow, a corner of the
leaf turned down at Jer. xxii. 10, ' Weep ye not for
the dead, neither bemoan him.' His father was ' chief
mourner.' The world heeded not the weeping that day
in the ' weaver's ' home of Kinnesswood. You look in
vain in the magazines and newspapers for so much as
an announcement of his death. But ' devout men
carried him to his grave, and made great lamentation
over him' (Acts viii. 2). Our photograph shows the
monument that now marks the spot in the churchyard of
what was the first charge of EBENEZER ERSKINE. Pil
grims from ' far Lands ' still find their way to it. Not
a Summer but some are observed reading the inscription,
and mayhap plucking a few spires of grass or an early
primrose from the mound. A very gentle, very modest,
very pure, very holy, very beautiful, very genuine, very
gifted Life had here its premature close. And a Sky-Lark
that rose, with broken wing, from his grave when last
we visited it, supplies us with at once an emblem of his

1 David Gray, as before.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 47

Life, and a guarantee of his Fame. Of his Life : for

his delicate constitution was as a • broken wing ' to his

piring spirit. Of his Fame : for it needeth not

'great things,* no Sinai thunder, but a 'still small voice,'

in an abiding place among the 'sweet singers' who

aim ' outlives the Epic ; the snatch of true

'Song' what was intended to compel immortality.

We may draw near, and read the Inscription on the

monument : —

TO THE

MEMORY OP
MICHAEL BRUCE,

WHO WAS BORN AT KINNESSWOOD IN 1746,

AND DIED WHILE A STUDENT
IN CONNECTION WITH THE SECESSION CHURCH.

MEEK AMD GENTLE IN SPIRIT, SINCERE AMD UNPRETENDING IN HIS CHRISTIAN
DEPORTMENT. REFINED IN INTELLECT, AND ELEVATED IN CHARACTER, HE WAS
GBEATLY BELOVED BY HIS FRIENDS, AND WON THE ESTEEM OP ALL; WHILE
HIS GENIUS, WHOSE FIRE NEITHER fOVEETV NOB SICKNESS COULD QUENCH,
PRODUCED THOSE ODES UNRIVALLED FOB SIMPLICITY AND PATHOS WHICH HAVE
SHED AN UNDYING LUSTRE ON HIS NAME.

' Early, brigkt, transient, chut* at morning dm,
H« tfarkUd, and txkalcd, and wtnt to ktaven.'

Alexander Bruce survived his son Michael for a
few years only ; but Mrs Bruce, his mother, lived on
until 1798. In her old age, while ' poor,' she continued
'stedfast' in her ' faith,' and received with touching gra
titude certain small annual sums which admirers of the
Poet sent her. It is told that, regularly as these little

48 THE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE.

payments arrived, she was seen, with basket on arm,
going from house to house of still lowlier neighbours ;
and on being asked what she was about, said, in the
largeness of her heart, 'When Heaven is raining so
plentifully upon me, I may let two or three drops fa' on
my puir neighbours.' A fine trait of the grateful old
' body ' is also remembered, which may be given in Mr
Birrel's words. When acknowledging a little money
sent for her, he says, ' My brother-in-law has put up a
stone chimney for Ann, and a halland of brick, which
makes her little cot much more cleanly and comfortable
than it was. She insists upon having a window cut out
in the south wall, in order that she may see Lochleven
and Stirling ; for she says, that though she never saw
either Mr Harvey or Mr Telford, yet she likes to see
the airt they come frae ; and this window must be cut
out, though it should be at her own expense.' x

Toward the beginning of Autumn, while the fields
were mellowing to Harvest, one of her acquaintances
chancing to ' look in ' upon her, found the venerable
Saint seated in her arm-chair, with her head leaning a
little back, and her open Bible on her knee. She had
tranquilly ' fallen on sleep.' Her ' spectacles ' were re
moved, and placed upon the Bible. Did she think that
another help was needed to illumine ' the dark valley ? '
' Thou shalt come to thy grave in a full age, like as a
shock of corn cometh in in his season' (Job v. 26).

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 160, 161.

INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS.

INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS.

>GAN— ODE TO THB CUCKOO— HYMNS OK PARAPHRASES.

FEEL that it is a pity to perturb so meek and
gentle a life as was that of Bruce with con
troversy. But unfortunately the first editor of
his Poems so dealt with the MSS. entrusted
to him, and subsequently so asserted for himself the
authorship of the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' and the well-
known ' Paraphrases ' or * Hymns,* that no choice is left.
I have gone over the whole of the evidence pro and con
after Dr Mackelvie, with a ' single eye ' to ascertain the
truth — nothing more, nothing less, nothing else; and
the result has been a conviction of the utter untenable-
ness of the claims of Logan. I use no stronger word

^ent.

I would narrate the facts, adduce the evidence, and
v our conclusions ; and I am mistaken egregiously
if any capable of weighing ' proof ' will refuse acquies
cence in the last.

We have first to narrate and examine the FACTS — general
and From fragments of letters that sum

has been ascertained, that while at Gairney Bridge, Bruce

52 THE WORKS OF

had himself intended to publish a volume of his ' Poems.'
With reference to the scheme, his old school-fellow and
fellow-student Dun thus wrote him, under date ' Edin
burgh, January 25th, 1766:' — fl received yours, and
am surprised that you say you have nothing to write.
Have the Muses forsaken you ? Have the tuneful sisters
withdrawn from the banks of Lochleven ? It is impossible
you can have offended them. No I they will yet exalt
your name as high as ever they did Addison's or Pope's.
My dear friend, / long to see you appear in public. I
hope I shall be freed from suspense ere long. Do not
fail to do it soon.'1 Again, in a letter from his fellow-
student, subsequently Professor Lawson, dated ' Bog-
house, Feb. 20, 1766,' there is an incidental allusion to
the extent of his materials for such a volume as was
projected. ' Pray, inform me,' he says, ' when Mr
Swanston proposes to begin his course of lectures, and
whether you design to attend them. I would have
been glad to have seen your criticism on Moir's pam
phlet, or some of your new compositions, unless so large
that they cannot be conveyed.' 2 Another letter from Bruce
himself to his friend Pearson, in which he had enclosed
his ballad of ' Sir James the Ross,' confirms the same
abundance of materials : * Let me see some of your
papers/ he writes -, ' at least a little more of something
new ; for really I cannot afford such cartloads of stuff as
you have every day from me, if it were to my brother, at
the rate you return.'3

We have thus far two facts : ( I ) That Bruce himself
contemplated the publication of a volume of Poems ;

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 57, 58. 2 Ibid. p. 58.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 53

(2) That even before 'Lochleven' was written— it not
having been begun until fully half a year subsequently —
there were ample materials. Hence, as Logan received
the whole of his manuscripts, there was not the shadow of
need for ' making up ' what he called, as we shall see, a

ellany.'

Attendance at the ' Theological Hall/ his transference
to ' Forrest Mills/ and his increasing illness, combined
with his naturally shrinking temperament, explain the

and ultimate non-publication of the volume under
his own auspices. But that to the deep-shadowed close
he ' hoped against hope/ that he might still be spared to
' make a book/ is evident from his careful revision of all
his papers, and copying out of them into a large quarto
volume, obtained for the express purpose, as stated in
our Memoir, and of which volume more in the sequel.1

He 'died/ his year 'ending in May/ and his young
purpose unfulfilled. He had not been gone many months
when Logan, who was at the time a tutor in the family
of Sir John Sinclair, Bart., came to Kin ness wood ; and
having called upon the parents of the deceased Poet,
expressed the deepest interest in his fame, and by the
representations made, prevailed upon Alexander Bruce
to furnish him with all Michael's MSS., which he knew,
it appeared, were prepared for the press ; as also all

s by and to him, and particularly those which he —
Logan — had himself addressed to him.

Besides delivering up to him the quarto volume of

ally transcribed ' Poems/ in guileless, unsuspecting
compliance with Logan's additional request, every person

1 Dr Mackclvic, as before, p. 77 ; and our Memoir, pp. 44, 45.

54 THE WORKS OF

who had ever been known to correspond with the
Poet was importuned to furnish him with his letters
and poetry. I have to state that, in addition to Dr
Mackelvie's testimony, based upon personal inquiries
at those who had been so ' importuned,' — for various
survived even up to 1837, — there are living at this day
sons and grandchildren who over and over heard their
several relatives repeat precisely the same statement. I
have to specify representatives of the Hendersons of
Turf hills, Arnots of Portmoak, Flockharts of Annafrech,
Lawson of Selkirk, Greig of Lochgelly, and many others.

Before leaving the Village, Logan assured Mr and Mrs
Bruce, that every paper with which they had entrusted
him, or might send, should be carefully returned ; and
that he had no doubt of realizing from the publication of
their son's ' Poems ' such a sum as wouJd maintain them
in comfort during the remaining part of their lives.
These are the exact words preserved to this day — to use
a fine expression— by oral tradition ; the tradition being
mostly from first to second hand. So that once more
it is apparent he contemplated such a volume as the
abundant materials warranted, not the small thing ulti
mately published and ' made up ' by him into a ' mis
cellany/

Anxiously was the publication looked for by the
household of Kinnesswood, and by the circle of admirers
who cherished the lamented Poet's winsome memory.
One year passed, and then another, without the slightest
intimation of what was being done. Wearied and wist
ful, Alexander Bruce addressed a letter to Logan, request
ing information as to progress. No answer was returned.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 55

The first letter was succeeded by several others, with
the same result. At length in 1770, three years after
apers had been delivered to him under the circum
stances narrated, a slight volume appeared, containing
seventeen poems [not nineteen, as Dr Mackelvie states1],
under the title, * Poems, on Several Occasions, by Michael
Bruce.' No name of Editor was given, nor any state
ment of how the MSS. had come into his possession ;
but Logan let it be known in society that he was the
Editor.

The following, in the form of a * Preface,' was prefixed
to the volume : —

* Michael Bruce, the Author of the following Poems,
lives now no more but in the remembrance of his friends.
He was born in a remote village in Kinross-shire, and
descended from parents remarkable for nothing but the
innocence and simplicity of their lives. They, however,
had the penetration to discover in their young son a
genius superior to the common, and had the merit to
give him a polite and liberal education. From his
earliest years he had manifested the most sanguine love
of letters, and afterwards made eminent progress in many
branches of literature. But poetry was his darling
study ; the poets were his perpetual companions. He
read their works with avidity, and with a congenial
enthusiasm -, he caught their spirit as well as their man
ner ; and though he sometimes imitated their style, he
was a poet from inspiration. No less amiable as a man
than valuable as a writer ; endued with good nature
and good sense -, humane, friendly, benevolent •, he loved

'Sec pi 95.

5 6 THE WORKS OF

his friends, and was beloved by them, with a degree of
ardour that is only experienced in the aera of youth and
innocence.

' It was during the summer vacations of the college
that he composed the following Poems. If images of
nature that are beautiful and new ; if sentiments, warm
from the heart, interesting, and pathetic ; if a style,
chaste with ornament, and elegant with simplicity ; if
these, and many other beauties of nature and of art, are
allowed to constitute true poetic merit, the following
Poems will stand high in the judgment of men of taste.

1 After the author had finished his course of philosophy
at Edinburgh, he was seized with a consumption, of
which he died, about the 2 1st year of his age.

' During that disease, and in the immediate view of
death, he wrote the elegy which concludes this collection ;
the latter part of which is wrought up into the most
passionate strains of the true pathetic, and is not perhaps
inferior to any poetry in any language.

* To make up a miscellany, some poems, wrote by
different authors, are inserted, all of them original, and
none of them destitute of merit. The reader of taste
will easily distinguish them from those of Mr Bruce,
without their being particularized by any mark.

' Several of these Poems have been approved by per
sons of the first taste in the kingdom ; and the Editor
publishes them to that small circle for whom they are
intended, not with solicitude and anxiety, but with the
pleasurable reflection that he is furnishing out a classical
entertainment to every reader of refined taste.'

Of this ' Preface ' as a whole, the Biographer of

MICHAEL BRUCE. 57

Logan, in the 'Lives of the Scottish Poets' (3 vols.
I2mo, Boys, London, 1822), remarks :

• 1 lad he [Logan] been only as scrupulously just to
the literary fame, as he has been liberal of praise to the
personal character of Bruce, their names could never
been mentioned in conjunction but with undivided
applause. As Editor of Bruce's works, however, he has
been guilty of an infidelity which, as it is of a sort which

POISONS THE VERY WELL-SPRINGS OF LITERARY HISTORY,

cannot be too severely condemned.'

But we must return specifically upon two of the state
ments made in this ' Preface ' in their order.

i . ' To make up a miscellany, some poems, wrote by
different authors, are inserted.'

The words * make up a miscellany ' would imply, that
there were not materials for even so small a volume as
was thus at last issued. We have found this to bt the
reverse of the truth ; and further, FACTS will go to show
why part of the Bruce MSS. was kept back.

' All of them [/>. the ' poems by different authors

inserted *] [are] original, and none of them destitute of

merit. The reader of taste •will easily distinguish them

from those of Mr Bruce, without their being particularized by

The only other author ever specified by Logan was
Sir James Foulis, Bart., to whom the ' Vernal Ode ' is
ascribed^by Dr Anderson. But letting this pass, could
anything have been more preposterous than to assign
as a reason for not putting an asterisk or other mark
against the pieces not by Bruce, that * the reader of
taste ' should ' easily distinguish them from those of Mr

5 8 THE WORKS OF

Bruce,' — nothing whatever of Bruce's having previously
appeared in print, whereby his style might be known ?
Logan's conduct in this has been called ' disingenuous '
by one, and * dishonourable ' by another, and * villain
ous ' by a third.1 I state the fact in his own ipsissima
verba ; and leave it to make its own impression.

Again : In the face of this declaration, that the
1 reader of taste ' should so recognise the superior merit
of those of Bruce's over the others, what are we to
think of the after-claim made upon what was admittedly
the gem of the little collection, viz. the ' Ode to the
Cuckoo,' which every ' reader of taste ' had at once
singled out as placing MICHAEL BRUCE among the rare
band of true Poets ?

Further : There were seventeen pieces in all only ; and
if Logan's own claims, and claims made for him, were
to be admitted— which never for a moment can we do —
fully the half of the volume, or ten separate poems, and
278 lines of ' Lochleven ' itself, must be assigned to him ;
and all this in a volume issued by himself as ' Poems by
Michael Bruce.' Logan seems to have had a secret
sense of the incongruity, inasmuch as he included only
ONE of all the NINE, and nothing of ' Lochleven ' — the
one, however, being the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' — in his
own volume published in 1781, though, as we shall see,
in this volume he committed other and aggravated spolia
tion upon the withheld MSS. of Bruce.

Some time after the volume which we have been de
scribing was published, its Editor sent six copies of it,

1 The third is the Rev. Peter Mearns of Coldstream, in his Lecture on ' The
Poet of Lochleven,' Kelso, 1863 ; painstaking and sympathetic.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 59

\\ithout one word explanatory of either the delay or the
' making up ' of a ' miscellany,' to ALEXANDER BRUCE

.innesswood. Copies had previously reached the
village, and it was instantly the ' talk ' of the community,
—then, as to this day, marked by no little discernment
and intelligence and godliness, — that there should be

to nothing in the book indicative of the profoundly
Christian character of the Poet, — what, above everything,
had impressed all who had intercourse with him. Ex
cept the 'Elegy in Spring,' there was scarcely a line
that breathed of ' divine things.' There was universal
wonder ; and all the more that many of the Villagers
could repeat verses that breathed the most seraphic de
votion, which they knew to have been his productions,
but none of which were included in the volume, nor
any explanation given why they were not. When the
volume was put into old Brace's hands, he went over its
contents, and, bursting into tears, exclaimed, 'Where
are my son's Gospel Sonnets ?' — a significant phrase, the
meaning of which will appear by and by, when we come
to consider the ' Hymns or Paraphrases/

Feeling indignant and injured, the good old man re
solved upon recovering his son's MSS. from Logan, and
publishing them himself. Toward this he scraped together
a few shillings which were due to him, and set out for
Edinburgh. He found his way to the house of Sir John

iir, where he was informed that Logan had left
the Family some time before -, but he was kindly directed
to a Bailie Logan's in Leith Wynd. Thither he pro
ceeded. Logan was not there at the moment. While
strolling about, in order to wait his return, the old man

60 THE WORKS OF

met and recognised him in Leith Walk, told him his
errand, and charged him with having kept back the
larger portion and the best portion of his son's poems, —
having in his eye the ' Gospel Sonnets,' already named,
which were his own special favourites. Logan took
him to his lodgings, where he delivered to him a few
loose papers, containing the first sketch of * Lochleven,'
' The Last Day,' and * Lochleven No More,' expecting
that he would be satisfied with these. But Alexander
Bruce's heart was set above everything on the ' Gospel
Sonnets,' — on his boy's devotional pieces, — and insisted
upon having the large quarto manuscript volume, con
taining the collection of carefully transcribed and com
pleted l Poems,' in Michael's own handwriting. Logan
professed inability to place his hands upon it, but pro
mised to make a search. Ill as he was able to bear
the expense, the old man remained over another night.
When he returned the following day, Logan was not
prepared to deliver up the book, and expressed his fears
' that the servants had singed fo<wls •with it.1 The poor
old father was utterly dejected ; and when — constrained,
no doubt, by his poverty — he sought some account of
the profits derived from the publication, he received not
one penny, nor any satisfaction. One can't but admire
at the unblushing audacity which sought to make the
old man believe that a ' large fully bound quarto volume '
could have been so used by ' servants,' as if it had been
some loose waste paper !

Alexander Bruce returned to Kinnesswood ' cast
down ' and broken in heart. The shock caused his
wound from the death of his beloved Michael to bleed

MICHAEL BRUCE. 61

afresh. He soon afterwards became exceedingly ' weak/
and died on July lojh, 1772.

I have told the FACTS of the reception of the volume
in the Village, and by the Poet's father, on the authority
of the painstaking, conscientious, and as-on-oath Narra-
>r Mackelvic. But I have had every 'jot and
tittle ' of it confirmed and re-confirmed by conversations
with the sons and daughters and grandsons and grand
daughters of the Villagers, who had over and over heard
detail from old Mr Bruce himself, from Mrs Bruce,
from the brother of the Poet, James, who lived until
1814; from Mr David Pearson, Mr John Birrel, Mr
1 Bickerton, Mr David Arnot, and from many
others who remembered and told their friends the FACTS.
THERE is NOT A SYLLABLE OF OUR ACCOUNT BUT RESTS

ON THE AUTHORITY OF EYE AND EAR WITNESSES OF
UNCHALLENGEABLE INTEGRITY.

So mucfe for Logan's genera/ conduct in relation to the
Bruce MSS. Thus far, we think, it will not be gainsaid
that he acted in a singularly heartless and unworthy
manner.

Now we enter upon the authorship of the ' Ode to
the Cuckoo/ that Ode which won the praise of Edmund
Burke, and can never * die.'

Here worse remains behind what we have already
told: — In 1781 appeared a thin 8vo volume, entitled
' POEMS. By the Rev. Mr Logan, one of the Ministers
of Leith. London : Printed for T. Cadell, in the Strand.
MDCCLXXXI.' It is now before us. There is no ' Pre
face,' and not a single ' Note ' or * Explanation.' Nfvtr-
theless, the very first poem in the volume is the ' Ode

6z THE WORKS OF

to the Cuckoo,' which was, as we have seen, the choice
jewel of that volume which he had himself published
as * Poems on Several Occasions. By Michael Bruce*
From the date of publication of Bruce's ' Poems ' up
to the publication of this volume, Logan never had
hinted his own claim to the ' Ode ;' neither in his
interview with Alexander Bruce nor in any way pub
licly. But when ' every reader of taste ' had selected
it as the poem of the ' Poems,' lo ! he claimed it ;
and there have been found those credulous enough to
admit the flagrant and impudent claim. On what autho
rity ? From what evidence ? On the simple ipse dixit
of the claimant ! Which is much as though a Liar
or a Thief were to be declared * honourable ' on his
own unsupported testimony. Let this FACT be grasped.
For Logan there is merely his publication of the ' Ode '
— with a few * corrections ' that it won't be difficult to
show were not l improvements ' — in his volume of 1781 ;
and his brazening-out of that by subsequent necessary
adherence to his claim.1 This is the sum and substance
of the evidence in his behalf, — if evidence it may be
called, where the accused is at once and in one, arraigned
criminal, witness, jury, and judge ; and behind all, a
character even then ' blown ' upon, as shall more fully
appear in the sequel.

1 The earliest assertion of another's claim than Bruce's to the authorship of the
'Ode to the Cuckoo' that I have met with, is the following: In the 'Weekly
Magazine or Edinburgh Amusement' — the'well-known Periodical of the Ruddimans,
in which Robert Fergusson first published the'most of his poems — for May 5th,
1774 (vol. xxiv. p. 178), there appeared a version of it, showing verbal changes.
It is signed R. D. In the next number, among answers to correspondents, there
was this sharp rebuke : ' We little imagined our good friend B. M. was capable
of imposition. The little Poem he sent us, under the signature R. D., inserted
p. 178, proves a literary theft, and is the production of a gentleman in this

MICHAEL BRUCE. 63

It never has been ventured to be affirmed, either as
from Logan or by Logan's friends, e.g. his executor, Dr
:nas Robertson, of Dalmeny (of whom more anon),
that the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' was seen in his handwriting
r than 1767 ; and Ij6j was the very year in which
be obtained the MSS. of Michael Bruce. Here is the cautious
language of his eulogist, Dr Robertson, in his Life of
Logan prefixed to his ' Sermons :' — ' The only pieces
which Logan himself ever acknowledged, in his conver
sations with the compiler of this biographical sketch, were
tory of Levina, the Ode to Paoli, and the Cuckoo.
The last was handed about and highly extolled among
his literary acquaintances in East Lothian, long before its
publication, probably (though not certainly) in 1767, as
he did not reside there at all in 1768, and very little in
1769. This fact, and his inserting it as his own in a
small volume eleven years afterwards, seem pretty de
cisive of his claims.' ' Credat Judxus ! Only first seen
in 1767, and yet 1767 was the year of his reception of
Brucc's MSS. -, not to say that, as a correspondent of the
Poet, he might even have received and ' shown ' it earlier,
though it is nowhere attempted to be proved he did
this. The claim on such a miserable chance probability,
' not certainly,' is — monstrous ; and as the strength of a

neighbourhood, already in print. He ought to challenge and chastise the thief '
(p. 224 . Nothing more teems to have come out of it : and of course we are
unable to say who R. D. or B. M. was ; and equally are we left in the dark
concerning the 'gentleman in the neighbourhood.'/./, of Edinburgh. If it was
Logan himself,— and Leith answers to the description,— it is singular enough that
he did not give his name. Are we to suppose that, though Bruce was dead fix
ytor*. he was only feeling his way toward his ultimate claim ? Certainly he was
wary enough not to act upon the irate Editor's advice : and still other «rnr*
Treat* elapsed before he gave the ' Ode ' to the public at kit mm.
1 Quoted by Dr Mackelvie from Life prefixed to Logan's 'Poems,' pp. ito, in.

64 THE WORKS OF

chain is measured, not by its strongest but by its weakest
part, this link failing, the after publication shares its
worthlessness.1

As this is the one point that has been put for Logan,
I wish to give it in every way in which it has been pre
sented. A Mrs Hutcheson, then wife of a Mr John
Hutcheson, merchant, Edinburgh, and cousin to Logan,
assured Dr Anderson that she saw the ' Ode to the
Cuckoo,' in her relative's handwriting, 'before it 'was
printed' Very possible, nay, most probable. But then
it was not printed until 1770, or about three years after
Bruce's MSS. had come into Logan's possession. Df
Anderson has accordingly very properly remarked upon
the statement : ' If the testimonies of Dr Robertson
and Mrs Hutcheson went the length of establishing the
existence of the ode in Logan's handwriting in Bruce's
lifetime, or before the MSS. came into Logan's posses
sion, they might be considered decisive of the contro
versy. The suppression of Bruce's MSS., it must be
owned, is a circumstance unfavourable to the pretensions
of Logan'2 No wonder that the good Doctor begins
with an 'if;' but never has it been attempted to be
shown, as it can't be too earnestly reiterated, that the
' Ode ' was in existence in Logans handwriting before
the Bruce MSS. were secured by him. In all the many
Letters of Logan that are extant, not one sentence has
been produced, vindicating or establishing in any way

1 A friend reminds us of a pat anecdote : An old fellow got into trouble before
the Sheriff about some debt he owed or did not owe. When he came home from
seeing the Sheriff, a neighbour asked him how he had got on : ' How did I get
on, ye fule ? It was left to my ain oath.' Anybody who knew him could have
told exactly how much his oath was worth.

2 Life prefixed to Logan's ' Poems,' p. 1030.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 65

aim. Absolutely nothing has been adduced, be-

idherence to his claim, after publishing the Ode

in his volume of 1781. Most strange, that not one of

all those 'literary acquaintances/ of whom Dr Robertson

blmeny speaks, ever was or has been found to so

urn the Doctor's ' probably ' as to 1767 into

1767 was too damning a coincidence with

the reception of the Bruce MSS. to bear investigation.1

It must be stated, finally, in relation to Logan's

claim, that when, in 1781-82, a few admirers of Bruce

nt in Stirling were preparing a reprint of the

volume of 1770, he attempted to hinder it by procuring

a 'Bill of Suspension and Interdict ' against the ' printers

and publishers/ The whole proceedings are given, with

superabundant details, by Dr Mackelvie, whither I refer

the reader.2 It is sufficient for our purpose to note

^ four things : —

>d Laing, Esq., LL.D., of the Signet Library, Edinburgh, has kindly
favoured me with a copy of the first edition of Brace's ' Poems' (1770), in which
•one anonymous former possessor of the volume has marked the pieces usually
claimed for Ix>gan as his ; and of course the 'Ode to the Cuckoo' is one of
them. But this is of no value whatever, seeing it only shows that the writer,
whoever he may have been, accepted Logan's own statement. Dr Laing has
also sent me copy of a letter by Dr Robertson of Dalmeny, containing nearly the
same list ; but we have seen all that he had to adduce (x*r/r«?\ In short, wher
ever I have come upon any attempt at evidence in favour of Logan, an »»anvna-
tion has invariably resolved it into his own publication and self-assertion.

On submitting this sheet to an accomplished literary friend, he wrote me,
'Once in my life I composed a little thing of six or eight stanzas, which a college
acquaii >hed to be thought a poet, got from me in MS., and wrote

out in his own way, altering three or four words. I afterwards met it in kit
handwriting, and with, his name at tht bottom ; and I believe it got into a news
paper or small magazine as his. I should have had difficulty in establishing a
claim to my own property had it been worth while doing so. But when a man
.'HJJ as his, after the real writer is in his grave, he is merely a thief,

len goods in his hands declaring that he got them honestly,— knowing
that the main witness against him can't be produced.'
cckclvie, as before, pp. 127-142.

E

66 THE WORKS OF

(i.) Logan had the audacity to designate himself PRO
PRIETOR of the ' Poems,' and to base his right to prevent
any reprint on a FALSEHOOD, viz. that Michael Bruce
had * left his works to his charge ;' or as elsewhere, * Mr
Logan was entrusted by Michael Bruce, previous to his
death, with these very poems.' This instruction to his
Law-agent he never attempted to prove, nor could he,
as our Narrative must satisfy.

(2.) Logan professed to be himself designing a 'new
and elegant edition ' of the * Poems ' — for his own benefit.
This too when old Mrs Bruce, mother of the Poet, was
in extreme penury ; and although, with the exception
of six copies of the volume in 1770, neither she nor the
family had ever reaped -a penny of advantage from the
publication.

(3.) Decision was given against Logan, setting aside
his alleged ' rights,' and holding his ' statements ' as
disproved.

Then — what escaped Dr Mackelvie —

(4.) The Stirling volume, which is a verbatim reprint
of that of 1770, WAS PUBLISHED. It is now before us :
* Poems on Several Occasions. By Michael Bruce. Sine
me, liber, ibis in urbem. Ovid. Edinburgh : Printed by
J. Robertson for W. Anderspn, bookseller, Stirling.

MDCCLXXXII.' (I2m0, pp. I27).1

Significant surely it is, that, notwithstanding his neces
sary disappointment with the ' decision ' against him, and
his anger with the Publishers, JOHN LOGAN allowed
this volume to go forth into the world without a single

1 Our copy has the book-plate of the amiable Lord Craig, who in 'The Mirror
was the earliest to call attention to the merits of Bruce.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 67

public word claiming cither the 'Ode to the Cuckoo'
:e other poems ascribed to him. Even in his
' pleadings ' he grounded his ' rights ' to prohibit, on his
' proprietorship,* and in so far as ' authorship ' was con
cerned was suspiciously unspecific, designating himself
generally ' in a great measure the author of the collec
tion of the poems in question.' Never once did he attempt,
through all the Tritt/, to prove that he ivas himself the author
md his own agent in the prosecution, the
late venerable Alexander Young, Esq., W.S., Edin
burgh, thus wrote Dr Mackelvie : ' Logan certainly
'. to me that he was the author.' '

Turn we now to the evidence for BRUCE'S author
ship. If the Bible rule hold good, that 'out of the
mouth of t\vo or three witnesses shall everything be
established,' then this will be so 'established,' and
beyond.

1,2. DAVID PEARSON and ALEXANDER BRUCE. — In
answer to inquiries addressed to him by Dr Ander
son, one of Michael Bruce s most intimate associates and
friends, viz. Mr DAVID PEARSON of Easter Balgedie,
thus wrote inter alia, with special reference to the
' Ode :' — ' When I came to visit his father [Alexander
Bruce] a few days after Michael's death, he went and
brought forth his poem-book Q/^. the quarto volume

Mackelvie, as before, p. 140. In a letter addressed to Dr Mackelvie upon
the publication of his edition of Bruce, Mr Young, though Logan's own agent,
thus gave his estimate of Bruce and Logan : ' I really am at a loss to express to

approbation of the manner in which you have executed the work, and
the justice you have done to the talents and memory of a most extraordinary
youth, more especially by rescuing them from the fangs of a poisonous reptile. '

rmons by the late William Mackelvie, D.D. ; with Memoir of the
Author by J c, LL.D., London. 1864.' (Oliphant), pp. 31, 32.

68 THE WORKS OF

already referred to, into which the Poet had transcribed
carefully all his productions deemed fit for the press] ,
and read the " Ode to the Cuckoo" and "The Musiad,"
at which the good old man was greatly overcome.'1
To the same effect he further wrote : [4 Kinnesswood,
August 20, 1 795.'] — ' 1 need not inform you concerning
the bad treatment that his [Bruce's] poems met with from
the Rev. Mr Logan, when he received from his father
the whole of his manuscripts, published only his own
pleasure, and kept back those poems that his friends
would most gladly have embraced, and since published
many of them in his own name. THE CUCKOO AND
THE HYMNS IN THE END OF LOGAN'S BOOK ARE AS
SUREDLY MR BRUCE'S PRODUCTIONS.' 2 Now, David
Pearson, who gives this explicit ' testimony J — and there
are many persons still alive who over and over heard him
make the same unvarying statement, — was first of all an
* apprentice ' with Alexander Bruce, then a ' journeyman,'
and throughout the bed-fellow of Michael. Manuscripts
that remain show him to have had also a taste for
poetry, a taste which the elder Bruce encouraged, and
which he and our Poet mutually stimulated in one
another. The friendship between David and Michael
was of the most intimate kind. It was their delight to
read every now and then their ' new pieces ' as they
came fresh from the mint, though Bruce's absence at
Forrest Mill latterly prevented their seeing or showing
all they produced, which, however, was supplemented

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 117, 118. The 'original letter' of Pearson was
entrusted to Dr Mackelvie by the daughter of Dr Anderson.

2 Dr Anderson, as before, p. 274.

ICHAEL BRUCE. 69

by Correspondence of the most ardent and confiding

.ctcr. The Letter given by us (pp. 34-36) is one

of the few spared from the spoliation of John Logan,

when, as explained, he sought every possible MS. to

and from Bruce. Besides all this, David Pearson was

a man of shrewd and noticeable intelligence, of literary

i ad of the same tender religious character with

Michael ; and through life was regarded as of sterling

integrity, unquestionable truthfulness, and rare worth.

;i he died, in a 'good old age,' the whole Village

mourned as for a father. Dr Anderson, in his Life of

Logan, describes him as ' a man of strong parts, and of

a serious, contemplative, and inquisitive turn, who had

improved his mind by a diligent and solitary perusal of

such books as came within his reach This

worthy and respectable man is now living at Easter Bal-
.' Such is our first twofold witness and witness
ing Alexander Bruce and David Pearson. And it may
be added, that over and above his distinct and unfor-
getable remembrance of old Alexander Bruce reading
from the well-known quarto volume the ' Ode to the
Cuckoo,' David Pearson was wont to tell with the same
certainty that he knnu the poem to be Michael's, for
that he had repeatedly read and heard it in Bruce's life
time. This I have had confirmed not once or twice,
but at least six timfs, by present representatives of the
Villagers, and of county families with whom Pearson
was wont to converse on the subject. He always, it
must be added, in common with Mr Birrel and all
others of the circle of the Bruces' relatives and acquaint
ances, adhered to the version of the 'Ode* as first

70 THE WORKS OF

given in the Poems published in 1770 (of which more
by and by).

3. JOHN BIRREL. — Another 'witness,' — who died in
1837, as Dr Mackelvie's edition of Bruce was passing
through the press, — viz. Mr John Bir.rel, gave the very
same unhesitating ' testimony ' from personal knowledge.
He was the junior by a few years of Bruce and Pearson,
but was very early in life admitted into the friendship of
both. He was specially ' the friend ' trusted in every
thing by Alexander Bruce, and he learned from him
again and again the facts that have been stated. The
elder Bruce died on 1 9th July 1772, nearly ten years
before Logan published his own volume, or in any public
way claimed the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ;' so that he never
had occasion to be interrogated as to its debated author
ship. But Mr Birrel, in common with David Pearson,
recalled the tears of the old man as he would now and
again take up the little volume of 1770, and read the
' Ode to the Cuckoo,' and the ' Elegy,' and ( Lochleven,'
when he was wont to recall the circumstances under
which these and other pieces were composed. It was
to Mr Birrel that Alexander Bruce gave over the
few loose MSS. that Logan had returned to him on his
sad visit to Edinburgh. In a letter to Dr Anderson
['Kinnesswood, Aug. 31, 1795 '], he thus gives a narrative
of the FACTS : ' Some time before the poet's father died, he
delivered to me the book containing the first draught of
some of Michael's poems, his sermons, and other papers,
desiring I would keep them, saying, " I know of none
to whom I would rather give them than you, for you
' mind ' me more of my Michael than anybody," — a com-

MICHAEL BRUCE. 71

pliment which I never deserved, and which in modesty
I should conceal. Some years after I entered upon
terms with Mr Morison of Perth to selJ the MSS. for
the benefit of auld Annie [Mrs Bruce], who was in
very destitute circumstances. But in the meantime Dr
Baird wrote for them, with a view to republish Michael's
poems, with any others that could be procured of his.
I sent them to him gladly, hoping soon to see the whole
in print, and the old woman decently provided for in
consequence. The finished book of MifkaeFs poems was
given to Mr Logan, who never returned them. Many a
time, with tears trickling down his face, has old Alex
ander told me how much he was disappointed. He came
unexpectedly and got all the papers, letters, and the
books away, without giving him rime to take a note of
the rifles, or getting a receipt for the papers,' etc.1 There
follows the reception by Logan of the father, as already
fully told. In another Letter to Dr Anderson, after
specially calling upon DAVID PEARSON, he informs him
that he € does not remember of seeing the Ode to the
Fountain, The Vernal Ode, Ode to Paoli, Chorus of
, or the Danish Odes, until he saw them
in print. But the rest of the publication [/>. of 1770]
he DECIDEDLY ascribes to Michael, and in a most parti
cular manner the ' Cuckoo/ ' Salgar and Morna,' and
the other 'Eclogue.' The 'decidedly* here is inter
preted to us by what David Pearson himself wrote to
Dr Anderson j and from a man so upright, so truthful,
so guarded, so venerable, it was as an oath.

In the course of our researches for this edition of

1 Dr Anderson, as before, pp. 1099, 1030.

7* THE WORKS OF

Bruce, a number of interesting letters of Mr Birrel have
been put into our hands ; and otherwise I have had
fresh light shed upon his circumstances and character.
All go to show that he must have been thoroughly
well-educated, of literary and specially poetic tastes, and,
in the fullest sense of the term — a ' godly man? From the
outset on to his white-headed old age, Mr Birrel gave
the same unvarying statement to all who introduced the
subject, and to Dr Mackelvie from within the shadows
of the ' Valley of Shadows ;' and such * testimony ' from
such a man in such circumstances, and speaking from
his own immediate personal knowledge, and as having
also read the ' Ode ' in the Poet's volume of transcribed
pieces, cannot be set aside by the audacious claim of
Logan himself, made without a syllable of explanation
or of evidence.

Thus far we have adduced three unchallengeable
* witnesses,' viz. :

ALEXANDER BRUCE, father of the Poet ;

DAVID PEARSON and)

JOHN BIRREL, j associates and correspondents.

All of these had ' heard ' and ' read ' the ' Ode ' during
the lifetime of Bruce, and before Logan had ever been
heard of. All of them had ' seen ' it in the MS. volume
carefully prepared by the dying Poet ; and out of this
volume, within a few days after his death, David
Pearson had heard the Ode ' read ' by Bruce's father, as
one of his favourite pieces. The volume which con
tained it and many other ' Poems,' was, as we have
seen, guilelessly entrusted to, or rather, by false pre
tences secured by, John Logan ; and, as we have also

MICHAEL BRUCE. 73

, he DESTROYED it, thus removing the one grand
once against his claim.

Fortunately, at least one other copy, not improbably
two, of the ' Ode* in Bruce's handwriting had been
preserved ; and we have the ' testimony * of two ' wit
nesses,' who will not be suspected, to having seen the
manuscript, viz. Dr Davidson of Kinross, and Principal
Baird of Edinburgh. These in order :

(l.) DR DAVIDSON OF KINROSS. — Dr Mackelvie hav
ing applied to the Lord Chief Commissioner Adam, of
.Jam, who had made investigations into the ques
tion, was informed by his Lordship, that Dr Davidson,
Professor of Natural and Civil I IKtory, Marischal Col
lege, Aberdeen, had stated to him, that his father [Dr
'.son of Kinross] told him that he had seen a letter
from Michael Bruce, in which he said, ' You will think
me ill employed, for I am writing a poem about a gowk '
(Anglicl, cuckoo).1

On communicating with Professor Davidson, Dr Mac
kelvie received this more detailed and thoroughly
factory account : —

'The information you have received from the Lord
Chief Commissioner is in every respect correct ; but in
addition to what my father told me (as stated in his
Lordship's letter), he also told me that the letter con
taining the poem was in the possession of a Mr Bicker ton,
ig either at Kinncsswood or Scotlandweil, but, at
this distance of time, I cannot certainly recollect which.
But soon after this, I was paying a visit to Colonel
Douglas of Strathenry ; when passing through Kinness-

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 114.

74 THE WORKS OF

wood, I met a Mr Birrel [already noticed] , an acquaintance
of my father's, who introduced me to Mr Bickerton, who
showed me the poem written upon a very small quarto page,
with a single line below it, nearly in the words as stated by
the Lord Chief Commissioner, and signed Michael Bruce.
The words were, as nearly as I can recall them, " You will
think I might have been better employed than writing
about a gowk." If I recollect right, the worfl Glasgow
was written on one corner of the paper, but no date. The
handwriting was small and cramped, and not very legible ;
but as I had not seen Bruce's handwriting, I could not
positively say that the handwriting was his, although Mr
Bickerton assured me that it 'was. I cannot be perfectly
certain in what year I saw the manuscript, but, from
some circumstances which occurred about that period, I
am inclined to believe that it was in the year 1786 or
thereby. I may observe, that there were some slight
differences between the manuscript which I saw and the
copy published in Logan's poems. The word " attend
ant" was used in place of "companion;" and several
other variations, but of no importance. I shall be most
happy if what I have stated can be of any use to you in
your projected edition ; and if there are any dubious
points in Bruce's life which would require to be cleared
up, perhaps I might be able to give you some informa
tion, as my father and. 1 had many conversations regarding
him; and he had good opportunities of knowing him,
from being his medical attendant.' I

There are two or three points in this letter which call
for remark.

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 114, 115.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 75

I. I have to state that Miss Davidson, daughter of
Dr Davidson of Kinross, and sister of Professor David
son, who lived and died in Kinross, is still remembered
by various of the older residents in the town to have
made the very same statement on the same authority, viz.
her father, who never for a moment doubted that Bruce
was the author of the ' Ode.'

nfirmation of Dr Davidson's incidental recol
lection that the paper on which the ' Ode ' was written
was ' a very small quarto ' page, it is to be noted
that all Bruce's letters which have been preserved are
written upon half of a sheet of foolscap, folded double,
which makes exactly such a page as is described. The
fac-simile prefixed to our volume is also written on the
same kind and size of paper.

3. The Mr Bickerton mentioned by Professor D
son is still remembered by many in the village and
county, as having been a school-fellow and associate of
Bruce, and afterwards a correspondent. He was a man
of kindred character and worth with Pearson and
Birrcl ; and he gave identically the same account of
Logan's visit and conduct with theirs.

It is greatly to be lamented that the manuscript was
lost by Mr Bickerton, who never ceased to grieve over
it, in common uith Mr Birrel and Mr Pearson. In the
very same way the original MS. of the * Elegy in Spring*
has gone amis sing from the family papers of the Hendersons of
Turfh'tlls.

(2.) PRINCIPAL BAIRD. — When Dr Anderson published
the 'Poems' of Logan, in his well-known Collection of
the British Poets, he assigned the 'Ode ' to him. After-

76 THE WORKS OF

wards, in applying to David Pearson for information,
while preparing a ' Life ' of Bruce, that worthy man
cordially entered into a correspondence with the Doctor ;
but in a little Memoir of Bruce, which he drew up, and
which was submitted to Dr Anderson, reflected somewhat
1 snelly on the giving of the ' Ode' to Logan. The Doctor's
letter to Pearson, in reply, is given by Dr Mackelvie.1

The following extract is important : 1 1 have since
seen your account of Bruce, which, so far as it goes,
is pleasing and interesting. I hope, however, you will
do me the justice to cancel the sentence relating to me.
I do not complain of its coldness, but of its unfairness.
In my narrative 1 followed Dr Baird' s authority in ascrib
ing the " Ode to the Cuckoo " to Logan, who had indeed
himself claimed it, and, till I saw Mr Birrel, I had no
doubt of his being the indisputable author of it.' On all
this Dr Mackelvie has these remarks and FACTS : —

' The reader will observe that Dr Anderson, accord
ing to his own account, had assigned the " Ode to the
Cuckoo " to Logan, upon Dr Baird's authority. Now
it is necessary to inform him that, in the year following
that in which he gave Dr Anderson the sanction of his
authority for assigning this Ode to Logan, Dr Baird
published a new edition of Bruce's Poems in behoof of
the poet's mother, in which he inserted the " Ode to
the Cuckoo " without note or comment ; thus awarding
to Bruce what he had formerly claimed for his friend
Logan, and what he was aware Logan had claimed for
himself. The reason for this apparent inconsistency on
the part of Dr Baird, in whose commendation we have

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, pp. 116, 117.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 77

yet much to say, is explained in a letter to Mr John
Birrel, from Mr John Hervey, merchant, Stirling, with
whose character, and connection with this publication,
the reader will be made acquainted in a subsequent
stage of this narrative. " He " (Dr Baird) " has found
the Cuckoo to be Michael Bruce's, and has the original
in his own handwriting." ' '

In all probability, the MS. formerly in possession of
Mr Bickerton was identical with that which Principal
Baird had obtained, though it is not known how it
reached him. It may have been another copy. If it
exceedingly to be desired that the Baird family papers should
yield up this prize.

The Mr Hervey referred to, promoted, and indeed was
the moving agent in, the publication of Dr Baird's edition
of Bruce's ' Poems.* He was the bosom friend of Mr
Birrel ; and two of the latter's letters to Mr Telford,
banker, Stirling, which have been kindly forwarded to
\press very touchingly his grief for his death.

Besides all this indubitable ' testimony,' direct and in
direct, from personal knowledge, and from those who
had seen the ' Ode ' in Bruce's handwriting, there falls
to be added this, that Professors Swanston and Lawson,
the Rev. George Henderson of Glasgow, the Rev. David
Greig of Lochgelly, and all the fellow-students of Bruce
at the University, and afterwards at the * Theological
in Kinross, over and over stated, on grounds of
persona/ knowledge, that the ' Ode ' to the ' Cuckoo '
was the composition of Michael Bruce. All the re
presentatives of these persons confirmed this to Dr

1 Dr Mackclvic, as before, p. 117.

7 8 THE WORKS OF

Mackelvie ; and I have had it repeatedly re-confirmed
to myself.

Further, we have the unhesitating * testimony ' of a
man greatly revered in his generation, to wit, Mr
Bennet of Gairney Bridge. He was the grandson of
Ebenezer Erskine's friend, the ' Laird ' of Gairney, and
son of good Mr Bennet, Associate minister of St An
drews. He was a fellow-student and intimate friend of
Bruce's. He received ' Licence,' but never having re
ceived a ' Call,' he settled down on Jiis paternal acres,
and filled most exemplarily the office of ' Elder ' in the
congregation of which the present Writer is minister.
He is still remembered as having often attested Bruce's
authorship ; and Lord Commissioner Adam thus inci
dentally refers to his testimony, in the letter to Dr
Mackelvie already quoted : ' I ought to have mentioned
that Mr Bennet of Gairney Bridge, the Seceding clergy
man, told me that he believed, or rather that he kne<wt
that Bruce was the author of the " Cuckoo." ' *

Two additional things only remain to be added :—

1. That during Bruce's lifetime, and before the l Ode '
was published — which was not until 1770 — many of the
young men of the Village who were the Poet's contem
poraries, could and did repeat it, from copies furnished by
himself, as he was wont to furnish of any of his pieces
that might be sought. Besides the ' witnesses ' already
cited, there are those now living who perfectly remember
their grandfathers and grandmothers so repeating it.

2. That it is still remembered in Kinnesswood that old
Mrs Bruce, mother of the Poet, having gone along with

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 113.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 79

a number of the Villagers to see a * Cuckoo,' which had
been shot by one of them, — a thing of rare occurrence
from the shyness of the bird, — remarked, ' Will that be
the bird our Michael made a sang about ?' the good old
' body ' meaning the well-known ' Ode.'

Such is our case against Logan and for Bruce. On
the one hand, for Logan, there is his publication of the
' Ode/ with a few verbal changes, in his own volume
- 3 1 , but without note or explanation or subsequent
proof ; ' and without a solitary witness to its existence in
his handwriting, prior to the Bruce MSS. coming into
his possession. On the other hand, there are for Bruce :
( I ) The ' Ode,' known to many of the Villagers be
fore publication ; (2) read by Alexander Bruce out of
the quarto MS. volume •, (3) heard and read by two
associates and correspondents, David Pearson and John
Birrel -, (4) possessed in Bruce's manuscript by Mr
Bickerton ; (5) that MS. seen by Dr Davidson ; (6)
another MS. copy in Bruce's handwriting, possessed by
Principal Baird ; and (7) the still well-remembered
mony ' of the County of Kinross, of those who per
sonally knew the Poet. Besides, as against Logan : ( I )
The destruction of Bruce* s carefully prepared quarto volume of
Poems, •which is attested to have contained the ' Ode;' (2)
its publication by himself as Bruce's, in the volume of
1770. I gather up the whole in the emphatic verdict of
another, well-fitted by genius and culture to judge, and,

1 We shall we in the sequel the worth or worthlessness of Logan's claim from
publication, in other relations. We shall see that he similarly 'published' at kit
own, in the same volume, and on the strength of like mere slight verbal changes,
what was printed before he was bom, over and above his appropriation of the
Bruce MSS.

80 THE WORKS OF

as an Englishman, removed beyond national and local
prejudices : —

* This beautiful Ode first appeared in the posthumous
Poems of Michael Bruce, Edinburgh, 1770. It was,
however, subsequently claimed by the editor of the
volume, the Rev. John Logan, among whose poems it
was afterwards printed. It is here unhesitatingly assigned
to the author, under whose name it was first given to
the public, on the following grounds : First, No one of
Logan's unquestioned pieces makes the slightest approach
to it in beautiful simplicity. Second, Were such literary
frauds to be tolerated, and editors of posthumous poems
allowed to claim and possess without title the best pieces
in such volumes, thus taking the benefit of their own
laches, no posthumous work would appear without sus
picion of being interpolated, and no author's fame resting
on such works would be safe.'1

In addition to the external evidence submitted, there
has recently been discovered a singular internal confir
mation of the Bruce authorship of the ' Ode.' In a
rich and racy Paper in the * North British Review '
for February 1864, entitled 'Bibliomania,' we read as
follows : —

1 No 6 is a copy of the poems of the Rev. John
Logan, which formerly belonged to John Miller, Esq.,
of Lincoln's Inn. Over against the Ode to the Cuckoo,
Mr Miller has inserted a slip of paper containing the
following curious piece of information : " The follow
ing note relative to the Ode to the Cuckoo was found

1 The ' Poetic Wreath,' consisting of select Passages from the English Poets from
Chaucer to Wordsworth. London : Chapman and Hall. 1836. 8vo.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 81

among the papers of Dr Grant, one of Logan's execu
tors : —

' Alas, sweet bird ! not so my fate,

Dark scowling skies I see
Fast gathering round, and fraught with woe
And wintry years to me.'

I rind that, after the stanza ' sweet bird,' he had written
the above ; but as he did not express a wish to have it
inserted, I have omitted it. And it is perhaps too solemn
for the tone of the rest of the poem, but it is expressive
of that predictive melancholy which was with him con
stitutional."

' Now, of course, Dr Grant must have been much
better qualified to judge than we are as to Logan's " pre-
dictivc melancholy." But it is at least remarkable that
the Ode to the Cuckoo should thus be ascertained to have
included a stanza so strikingly characteristic of Michael
Bruce, who is on other grounds strongly suspected to
have been the real author of the poem. The singularly
close parallelism of the above with the well-known
lines : —

" Now spring returns, but not to me returns
The vernal joy my better years have known," etc.,

must necessarily strike every one. The stanza we have
now given has never, so far as we know, been printed
before ; and it is a little unaccountable that it should not
have reached the hands of Dr Mackelvie, who published
a carefully edited edition of Brace's poems about thirty
ago, and who, as we remember, mentions that he
had applied to Mr Miller of Lincoln's Inn for any infor-

8z THE WORKS OF

mation that might be in his possession, bearing upon the
question as to the authorship of the several poems which
have been variously attributed both to Bruce and Logan.' x

It is plain that Mr Miller- — into whose possession the
Logan and Grant MSS. came — must have discovered this
stanza and note subsequently to his correspondence with
Dr Mackelvie. It may be well to state, that, after a pro
tracted correspondence, evidencing a keen and lawyer-
like penetration and sifting of evidence, Mr Miller
finally wrote : ' My own firm persuasion is, that the Ode
is Bruce's, though Logan may have changed some of the
words or expressions.'2

No one will disagree with the writer of ' Bibliomania,'
as to the recovered stanza being characteristic of Bruce ;
and Logan's suppression of it points to a shrewd dis
cernment thereof. The touching lines reflected the very
circumstances of the young ailing Poet as he felt himself
struggling with a * consumptive ' constitution. At the
most, he could only live ' in weakness ' and in pain ; and
was looking forward to going away prematurely. Such
were his blended fears and hopes. John Logan was
too ' riotous ' a ' liver ' to be visited by such * predictive
melancholy,' spite of his credulous * executor's ' observa
tion.

Having thus vindicated the claims of Bruce to the
authorship of the * Ode to the* Cuckoo,' it may not be
unmeet that we give it here as originally published in
1770, and as subsequently altered by Logan in 1781..
We place them opposite one another : —

1 North British Review, February 1864.

2 Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 121.

MICHAEL BRUCE.

! II

1770 As BKICE WWOTE IT— 1761. As LOGAN AMENDED IT—

of the wood! HAIL, beauteous Stranger of the grove !

:.: •'-,'' TboU

Now hcav'n repair* thy rural teat. Now Heaven repair, thy rural Mat.

And woods thy welcome sang. And woods thy welcome sing.

Soon as the daisy decks the gi«ta. What time the daisy deck, the green.

Thy certain voice we bear: Thy certain voice we hear ;

Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Hast thou a star to guide thy path.

Or mark the rolling year? Or mark the rolling year?

in.

Delightful Visitant ! with the* Delightful Visitant ! with thee

Ihailihciimeofflow'rs, I hail the time of flowers.

When hcav'n is fill'd with music sweet And hear the sound of musk sweet

Of birds among the boVrs. From birds among the bow*

IV.

The schoolboy, wand'ring in the wood The school-boy, wandering thro' the wood

To pull the floVrs so gay, To pull the primrose gay.

Starts, thy curious voice to hear. Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear,

And imitates thy by. And imitates thy by.

v.

Soon as the pea puts on the bloom. What time the pea puts on the bloom

Thou fly*st thy vocal vale, Thou fliest thy vocal vale,

An annual guest, in other bods, An annual guest in other lands,

Another spring to haiL Another Spring to hail.

VI.

Sweet bird ! thy bow'r is ever green, Sweet Bird ! thy bower is ever green.

Thy sky is ever clear ; Thy sky is ever clear ;

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year! No winter in thy year !

VII.

O could I fly. I'd fly with thee : O could I fly, I'd fly with thee !

: make, with social wing. We'd make, with joyful wing,

Our annual visit o'er the globe. Our annual visit o'er the globe,

Companions of the Spring. n-mfmrnt*** of the Spring.

For reasons that will appear in the sequel, it is neces
sary to take particular notice of the successive alterations
in the text of 1781 from that of 1770.

First of all, in stanza first, line first, for Bruce's

' wood,' Logan substitutes ' grove,' no doubt because of

84 THE WORKS OF

the occurrence of the former in line fourth. It is to be
noticed that * wood ' is the local name still, for the plan
tation on the hill-sides ; and also that in * Lochleven '
* wood ' occurs repeatedly.
In line second we read —

' 'Thou Messenger of Spring,'
for Bruce's

' Attendant on the Spring.'

As the Cuckoo comes with, not precedes, * Spring,' the
original * Attendant ' is the more nicely accurate.

It is noticeable also — for it is in these little things
craft is shown — that Logan had a motive to make the
change of ' Messenger ' for ' Attendant ' on the Spring,
inasmuch as he thereby removed a suspicious parallelism
with the opening of ' Lochleven,' —

6 Beauty . . . where she treads,
Attendant on her steps, the blushing Spring
And Summer wait.' . . .

In stanza second, for Bruce's vivid ' Soon as,' Logan
gives ' What time ; ' in stanza third, for Bruce's

1 When heav'n is filled with music sweet
Of birds among the bowers,'

which fills up the vision of the dawning Season — first
the ' daisy ' and the ' cuckoo,' then the whole flush of
flowers and the whole quire of * singers ' in the wood
lands — we have Logan's

( And hear the voice of music sweet
From birds among the bowers ; '

the ' and ' being in contradiction to the ' hail ! ' addressed

MICHAEL BRUCE. 85

to the advancing bringer of flowers and birds, and trans
forming the future into the present.

In stanza fourth, line first, for Brucefs ' in ' there is
'thro';' and for his 'To pull the flow'rs so gay,' the
more definite ' To pull the primrose gay/ — Logan here
giving the one improving touch that can be accepted.
4 /// the wood * occurs twice in ' Lochleven.'

In line third, Logan makes a change which no one
will approve, and on which we may hear Lord Mac
kenzie : ' Will you allow me,' he wrote to Dr Mackelvie,
' to suggest that, when you republish the " Ode to the
Cuckoo," you should consider whether the original read
ing of the line ought not to be restored, namely,

" Starts thy curious voice to hear,"
instead of

" Starts the new voice of Spring to hear."

" Curious " may be a Scotticism, but it is felicitous. It
marks the unusual resemblance of the note of the
cuckoo to the human voice, the cause of the " start " and
" imitation " which follow : whereas the " New voice of
Spring " is not true ; for many voices in Spring precede
that of the cuckoo, and it 'is not peculiar and striking,
nor does it connect either with the start or imitation." '

In stanza fifth, line first, we have again Bruce's ' Soon
as* exchanged for ' What time.'

Logan leaves untouched stanzas fifth and sixth, the
latter the finest of the whole; and only in stanza seventh,
line second, for Bruce's 'social' reads 'joyful.' Such
are the entire ' words or expressions ' (to use Mr Miller's

1 Dr Mackelvie, as before, p. 2401

86 THE WORKS OF

phrase, ante) ' changed ' by Logan ; and I apprehend it
may be safely left with every reader capable of insight,
to judge whether the hand that made these alterations
was the hand of a genuine ' Makkar ' — whether they do
not answer to the drivellings of ' Runnymede.' Two
things seem very clear : the altered copy is less truthful
and is less poetical. It is the ' lesser ' blessing the
1 greater ' — the backward way. With therefore the one
exception of the specification of the ' primrose,' I know
not that any one will accept Logan's alterations as im
provements. Even the * primrose ' lacks that accuracy
characteristic of Bruce, inasmuch as schoolboys don't
ramble 'in the woods' to 'pull' one flower in particular,
be it ' primrose ' or any other, but are apt to seize upon
all that offer ; and again, in the present day at least, in
the county of Kinross, I have found the cuckoo pre
ceding the full yellowing of the ' primrose ' banks in the
bosky glades.

Logan is not the only one who has ' tinkered ' this
exquisite ode. Dr M'Culloch, in the third volume of
his series of school-books, imagines that he improves the
original of

' Starts thy curious voice to hear,'
by reading

' Stands still to hear thy two-fold shout/

an attempt to import Wordsworth into Bruce.

That the version of 1770 represents the 'Ode' as it
came from Bruce, will appear from these three things : —

I . The Villagers had so ' learned it by heart ' pre
vious to publication.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 87

Messrs Pearson, Birrel, Bickerton, Arnot, and all
Br uce's contemporaries, so gave it.

3. Principal Baird, who had in his possession a copy
in the handwriting of Bruce, so printed it, thus deli
berately refusing Logan's version.

Before passing on to another flagrant illustration of
Logan's appropriation of the Bruce MSS. in the ' Hymns *
or ' Paraphrases,' the Reader will no doubt be glad to
have placed before him other three addresses to the
' Cuckoo,' two of surpassing subtlety of thought and
music of wording ; and the other interesting for com
parison, as having appeared in 1777, is. after Bruce's
volume, but prior to Logan's, and showing knowledge,
especially in the penultimate stanza, of the former.

We take them in order. First of all, the anonymous
' Ode ' of the old Magazine.

ODE TO THE CUCKOO.

See ! the vernal flow'rets bloom,
Wove in Flora's silken loom,

Gay linnet of the Spring !
See ! the halcyon skims the lake,
And the lizard leaves the brake,

\\ here countless warblers sing !

Come, dear Cuckow ! come away !
April wanes ! — 'twill soon be May !

Too short thy pleasing reign !
Come, and with unvary'd note,
Perch beside my little cot,

And soothe me once again !

88 THE WORKS OF

Silver willows shed perfume,
Sweeter than Arabia's gum,

Along the marshy rill ;
Shepherds pipe the rural lay,
As their lambkins frisk and play

Upon the pendant hill.

Whisp'ring pleasure everywhere,
Genial zephyrs fan the air,

In mazy, mystic sport !
Insect swarms begin to live ;
Jocund nymphs their chaplets weave ;

And Venus holds her court !

Sunshine moments dost thou prize ?
Lo ! unclouded as the skies ;

At work the active bees !
Nature bids thee come with speed,
Revel in the laughing mead,

Or wanton on the trees !

Oh ! like thee, the bird I love,
I, on ev'ry new remove

Fresh scenes of joy would know ;
And when gath'ring storms appear
(Left the baneful hemisphere),

To kinder regions go.

Mine this hope, when grizzly death
Asks the tribute of my breath,

The debt I'll freely pay ;
And, unbody'd, take my flight
Far beyond the starry height,

Where beams eternal day ! x

It seems -like placing a * gowan ' beside a passion
flower, with its awful lines and stains, to follow this

1 Ruddiman's 'Weekly Magazine or Edinburgh Amusement,' May 22, 1777.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 89

with Wordsworth's witching and exquisitely-touched
' Ode,' to which, for perfectness of thought, of feeling,
of metaphor, of word-painting, and of melody, — there is
nothing of its kind that approaches it •, nevertheless the
comparison is interesting, and more especially in refer
ence to Bruce's ' Ode.' For just as — to return to our
symbol — we detect in the mystic passion-flower the very
same tints, and spots, and ' freckles ' as are found in the
lowlier blossomings of the woodland, so in /'/'/ profounder
strain there are self-revealing recollections of the young
Scot's simpler lines. It is known that the great Poet
of the Lakes admired exceedingly Bruce's ' Ode ' and
1 Elegy.' Next then is Wordsworth's : —

O blithe New-comer ! I have heard,

I hear thce, and rejoice.
O Cuckoo ! shall I call thce Bird,

Or but a wandering Voice ?

While I am lying on the gnat,
Thy two-fold shout I hear ;

From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off, and near.

Though babbling only to the Vale
Of sunshine and of flowers,

Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring !

Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,

A voice, a mystery ;

90 THE WORKS OF

The same whom in my schoolboy days

I listen'd to ; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways,

In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove

Through woods and on the green ;
And thou wert still a hope, a love ;

Still long'd for, never seen.

And I can listen to thee yet ;

Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget

That golden time ag^in.

0 blessed Bird ! the earth we pace
Again appears to be

An unsubstantial, faery place,
That is fit home for Thee !

Lastly, there is the quaint, antique-toned ' Lines ' of
Bruce-like David Gray, which remind us of those in
stantaneous photographs that give the breaking ' froarie '
curl of the wave, the soft wreathing of autumnal mist,
in their fine telling of the shock of illusion, as the actual
dissolved the visionary : —

Last night a vision was dispell'd,

Which I can never dream again ;
A wonder from the earth has gone,

A passion from my brain.

1 saw upon a budding ash

A cuckoo, and she blithely sung
To all the valleys round about,

While on a branch she swung,
Cuckoo, cuckoo ; I look'd around,

And like a dream fulfill'd,

MICHAEL BRUCE. 91

A slender bund of modest brown,

My sight with wonder thrill'd.
I looked again and yet again ;

My eyes, thought I, do sure deceive me ;
But when belief made doubting vain,

Alas ! the sight did grieve me.
For twice to-day I heard the cry,

The hollow cry of melting lore ;
And twice a tear bedimm'd my eye, —

I saw the singer in the grove ;
I saw him pipe his eager tone,

Like any other common bird,
And, as I live, the sovereign cry

\\ .is not the one I always heard.
O why within that lusty wood

Did I the fairy sight behold ?
O why within that solitude

Was I thus blindly overbold ?
My heart, forgive me ! for indeed

I cannot speak my thrilling pain ;
The wonder vanish 'd from the earth,

The passion from my brain. '

Having successfully, it is believed, vindicated BRUCE'S
claim to the ' Ode to the Cuckoo/ — having shown that
Logan acted the part of Bathyllus to Virgil, or, if we
may be pardoned saying it, the part of the ' Cuckoo ; *
for in truth one must retort upon him the old Latin pro
verb, ' astutior coccyge,' seeing that if she steal another's
nest, she at least lays her own eggs, and adheres to her own
mononote, but John Logan usurped nest and eggs, and
the ' sweet singing' of the bird whose little all he robbed,
— we have now similarly to narrate and examine the FACTS

1 The Luggie, and other Poems. By David Gray. With a Memoir by James
Hcddcnriclc, and a Prefatory Notice by R. M. Milnes, M.P. (Lord Houghton .
Macmillan' 1862. tamo. Pp. 108, too.

9* THE WORKS OF

concerning Logan's misappropriation of the Bruce MSS.
in the well-known Paraphrases and Hymns.

It has already been told how surprised and disap
pointed the Villagers were when the little volume of
1770 reached them, and was found to contain none of
the Poet's religious pieces. We daresay none of our
readers will have forgotten the broken-hearted excla
mation of his good old father, l Where are my son's
Gospel Sonnets?' The volume of 1781 gave an all
too plain explanation of the mystery and of the sup
pression ; for at its close there appeared nine 'Hymns'
that were instantly recognised as substantially the * Gos
pel Sonnets,' or poetical renderings of passages of Scrip
ture, of Michael Bruce — some of them revisions of
already existing Hymns, and others wholly his own, as
will immediately be shown.

That the villagers and old Mr Bruce should thus in
stantly have missed the sacred poems of Bruce in 1770,
and that the former — for Bruce senior was now dead-
should with equal decision have recognised them in the
so-called * Poems by the Rev. Mr Logan,' in 1781, is
explained by the facts which now fall to be stated.
Here I would do all honour to Dr Mackelvie, by allow
ing him first of all to present these

' Short and simple annals of the poor/

merely stating for myself, that through venerable sur
viving representatives of those whose ' forbears ' were
wont to sing these very ' Hymns ' long before they ever
appeared in print, and o' winter nights to recall the
memory of Bruce and ' auld langsyne,' I have taken no

MICHAEL BRUCB. 93

small pains to re-verify every little detail. The follow
ing is Dr Mackelvie's narrative : —

4 The circumstance which first led our poet to write
hymns has been rendered memorable in Kinnesswood by
its contributing, at the same time, to form a taste for
sacred music among its inhabitants, for which they are
still celebrated. About the period to which our narrative
refers, a farmer of the name of Gibson settled in the
village with his family, all the members of which were
fond of church music ; and one of them, afterwards a
preacher in connection with the Established Church,
took delight in teaching this art to such of the villagers
as would receive his instructions. Among the youths
who benefited by his lessons was one John Buchan,
who, after residing in several towns with a view to im
prove himself in his profession as a mason, returned to
his native village, where he taught church music, and
introduced a number of new tunes which he had learned
in the places he had visited. Till then, " the old eight/* —
which were, " French, Dundee, Stilt or York, Newton,
Elgin, London, Martyrs, Abbey,** — as they are now
emphatically called, were considered the only tunes
which it was lawful to sing in country congregations,
and, consequently, were all that it was deemed neces
sary or proper to learn ; but in town churches a few
others had begun to be added to the number (among
these were "St David*s, St Paul's, St Thomas's, St
Ann's"). In the summer of 1 764, Michael Bruce joined
Buchan's class. At the time of his doing so, the fol
lowing doggerel rhymes, among others, were sung by
the pupils when practising in school : —

94 THE WORKS OF

i i O mother, dear Jerusalem,

When shall I come to thee ?
When shall my sorrows have an end,
Thy joys when shall I see ? "

" The Martyrs' tune, above the rest,

Distinguish'd is by fame ;
On their account I'll sing this
In honour of their name."

" Fair London town, where dwells the King,

On his imperial throne,
With all his court attending him,
Still waiting him upon."

Buchan, knowing Bruce to be both a poet and a scholar,
requested him to furnish the class with verses which
might be substituted for those we have quoted, which
he considered as destitute of sentiment, and calculated to
produce a ludicrous effect when sung to solemn airs.
With this request Bruce complied, and wrote a number
of hymns, several verses of which, in consequence of
being often sung in these rehearsals, became familiar to
the inhabitants of the parish. The following have been
attested to the writer as among the number : —

* i O happy is the man who hears
Instruction's warning voice ;
And who celestial wisdom makes
His early, only choice."

" Few are thy days, and full of woe,

O man of woman born ;
Thy doom is written, Dust thou art,
And shalt to dust return."

ICHAEL BRUCE. 95

" The beam that shines from Zion hill

Shall lighten every land ;
The King that reigns in Salem's towers
Shall all the world command.

We have now to make a few remarks upon the
Hymns or -Paraphrases, as they belong to the two
classes indicated in the outset, viz. revised hymns
already existing, and hymns wholly original.

I . Revised Hymns already existing. These are the first
and fifth in Logan's volume of 1781, and form the
second and eighteenth of the ' Paraphrases ' of the
Church of Scotland in universal use among us, and
largely in the United States of America.*

It will startle many to be informed, that these two
Hymns had been printed, substantially, in 1745; and
that the one — viz. ' O God of Bethel ' — belongs to the
saintly Dr Dodd ridge of Northampton, in whose posthu
mous * Hymns, founded on Various Texts in the Holy
Scriptures,' published by Orton in 1755, ** duly aP-
pears. To the proof: — Through the kindness of the
Rev. Dr Johnston, of the United Presbyterian Church,
Limekilns, I have now in my possession a copy of the ad
interim edition of the ' Paraphrases.' Its title-page is as
follows : —

I ackclvie, as before, pp. 99-103.

3 Or Laing. in his edition of Baillie, has given a most valuable account of the
different editions of the metrical ' Psalms.' The same, and something more, were
acceptable, concerning the ' Paraphrases.' We have before us what appears to
have been a third edition of the volume referred to on next page:— 'Aber
deen : Printed by F. Douglas. MDCCLXV.' Three ' Hymns' are added from Dr

96 THE WORKS OF

TRANSLATIONS

AND

PARAPHRASES

OF

SEVERAL PASSAGES

OF

SACRED SCRIPTURE,

Collected and prepared

By a Committee appointed by the General

Assembly of the Church of SCOTLAND.

And, by the Act of last Assembly, transmitted to
PRESBYTERIES for their Consideration.

EDINBURGH,

Printed by ROBERT FLEMING and COMPANY,
Printers to the Church of Scotland.

In this interesting little volume, at pages 49, 50, as
the twenty-eighth, and 74, 75 as the forty-fourth re
spectively, the hymns in question are found. It may be
well to give them verbatim et literatim ; and over against
them Logan's versions : —

1745- LOGAN. 1781.
I. ISAIAH ii. 2-6.

i.

In latter Days, the Mount of GOD, Behold ! the mountain of the Lord

His sacred House, shall rise In latter days shall rise,

Above the Mountains and the Hills, Above the mountains and the hills,

and strike the wond'ring Eyes. And draw the wondering eyes.

ii.

To this the joyful Nations round To this the joyful nations round

all Tribes and Tongues shall flow ; All tribes and tongues shall flow ;

Up to the House of GOD, they'll say, Up to the Hill of God, they'll say,

to Jacob's GOD, we'll go. And to His house we'll go.

MICHAEL BRV( 97

in.

To us Hell point the Ways of Truth .

the sacred Path well tread:

From SmJfm and from Z<*«- Hill ThebeamthatihiiiesoaZionH.il

Shdl lighten every had:

tW k :,,.' -. | :./ .( M|

Among the Nations and the Isles, **^ ** *"* ****** command

.is Ju.'.^c nor ii :
And, vested with unbounded pow'r.
will punish or acquit.

v

No Strife thallrace, nor angry feud. No strife thaU vex Messiah's reign.

disturb these peaceful year* ; Or mar the peaceful yean ;

To plow-chares then they'll beat their To ploughshares soon they beat their

to Pruning- hooks their Spear*. To pruning. hooks their

n.
Then Nation shan't 'gainst Nation rise. No lonfer hosts encountering hosts,

and slaughter^ Hosts deplore: Their millions slain deplore ;

They'll by the useless Trumpet by, They hang the trumpet in the hall,

and study War no more. And study war no more.

O come ye, then, of Jacob's House. Come then-O come from every land,

our Hearts now let us join: To worship at His shrine ;

And, walking in the Light of GOD, And, walking in toe light of God.

with holy Beauties shine. With holy beauties shine.

1745 LOCAK. 1781.

KMfssis) xxviii. ao, ai, 93. THE PRAYEK or JACOB.

i.

O Goo of Bftlul, bywhoeeHand O Goo of Abraham ! by whose hand

thine ftratt still is fed! Thy people still are fed ;

Who thro1 this weary pilgrimage Who through this weary pilgrimage

hast all our Fathers led. Hast all our fathers led I

it.

To thee our humble vows we raise : Our vows, our prayers, we now present

hee address our Pr.r Before Thy throne of grace:

And in Thy kind and faithful Breast God of our Fathers, be the God

deposit all our care. Of their succeeding race !

in.
If Thou, through each perplexing Path, Through each perplexing path of life,

wilt be our constant Guide ; Our wandering footsteps guide ;

If thou wilt daily Bread supply, Give us by day our daily bread,

and Raiment wilt provide ; And raiment fit provide !

98 THE WORKS OF

IV.

If Thou wilt spread Thy Wings around, O spread Thy covering wings around,

'til these our wand'rings cease, Till all our wanderings cease,

And at our Father's lov'd Abode And at our Father's loved abode

our souls arrive in Peace ; Our feet arrive in peace !

v.

To Thee, as to our Cov'nant GOD, Now with the humble voice of prayer

we'll our whole selves resign ; Thy mercy we implore ;

And count that not our Faith alone, Then, with the grateful voice of praise,

but all we have, is Thine. Thy goodness we'll adore !

On comparing the text of 1745 with that of Dr
Doddridge (1755), the only departures are in stanza
first, line first, where for * Bethel ' we read ' Jacob ;' and
in stanza fourth, line first, where for * wings ' we read
' shield.'

Thus the Rev. John Logan published as his own, in
his volume of 1781, without a syllable of explanation,
two Hymns that, as we have seen, were (substantially]
printed in 1745, when he was non-existent j and in 1755,
when, if not ' puking in the nurse's arms,' he was at
most a child, having been born in 1748. The question
then arises, How came Logan to have the effrontery to do
this ? The answer is simple : Having Bruce's MSS. beside
him, he adopted the grand third stanza of the first:

6 The beam that shines from Zion hill

Shall lighten every land ;
The King who reigns in Salem tow'rs
Shall all the world command j '

and also the verbal changes, which with true poetic
instinct Bruce had made, and thereupon laid claim to the

WHOLE.1

1 It. is quite within probability that Bruce had written an entire and original
paraphrase of the passage, Isaiah ii. 2-6, and that Logan took from it the one
stanza which lingered in the memory of the villagers of Kinnesswood,

' The beam that shines,' etc.
Be this as it may, in addition to the two paraphrases above, which Logan pub-

MICHAEL BRUCE. 99

All this reflects back light upon Ix>gan's similar
audacious claim to the ' Ode to the Cuckoo.' As we
found, there were slight alterations, — not imprnxmetits,
save one,— on the text of 1770 in the volume of 1781 ;
and on the strength or weakness and worthlessness of
these, lo, he claimed the 'Ode' itself! We have here
all unintentionally revealed his principle or no-principle
of authorship. Apart altogether from Bruce, it will be
admitted that Logan had not the shadow of title to pub

lished as his own in 1781, on the strength of his verbal changes on the teat of 174$.

claimed by Login and bears hi. name-that nevertheless was, in like manner.
(substantially) printed in the little volume of 1745- 1 pUce the two side by side.

1745. ROMANS vttL 31, t»t**tmt. 1781. 48th PAKAraKASE.

i

Now let our souk ascend above Let Chratian fiuth and hope dispel

The fear* of guilt and woe: The fears of guilt and woe ;

God is for us, our Friend declared: The Lord Almighty is our friend.

Who then can be our foe? And who can prove a foe ?

11.

He who his Son, most dear and loVd, He who his Son, most dear and lorti,

i» gave up to die. Gave up for us to die,

Will he withhold a lesser gift. Shall he not all things freely give

Or ought thafs good deny? That goodness can supply?

in.

Behold all blesringsseaTd in this, Behold the best, the greatest gift.

The highest pledge of lore; Of everlasting love !

All grace and peace on earth below. Behold the pledge of peace below.

And endless life above I And perfect bliss above !

nr.
Who now shall dare to charge with guilt Where is the judge who can condemn.

Whom God hath justified? Since God hath justified?

Or who is .he that shall condemn. Who shall charge those with guilt or crime

Since Christ the Saviour dy'd ? For whom the Saviour dyM ?

v.

He died,— but He is risen again. The Saviour dy'd, but rose again

nphant from the grave ; Triumphant from the grave ;

And pleads for us at God's right hand. And pleads our cause at God's right hand.

Omnipotent to save. Omnipotent to save.

Then who can e'er divide us more Who then can e'er divide us more

From Christ, and love divine » From Jesus and his love.

ioo THE WORKS OF

lish these hymns as his own ; but when it is shown, as
Dr Mackelvie has done, that the stanza which is the
' perfect chrysolite ' of its Hymn, was familiarly sung by
the Villagers in 1764, or seventeen years before it was
printed by Logan, and that similarly the two Hymns, with
the 'verbal changes' upon the text of 1745 and 1755,
were regularly used in the village-singing under the cir
cumstances recorded, it is difficult to restrain one's indigna
tion against Plagiarism so base and Audacity so supreme.
We claim for Bruce, then, the stanza, the lines, and
the felicitous verbal changes of these two Hymns. Had

Or what dissolve the sacred band Or break the sacred chain that binds

That joins our souls to him ? The earth to heav'n above ?

VII.

Let troubles rise, and dangers roar, Let troubles rise, and terrors frown,
And days of darkness fall ; And days of darkness fall ;

Through him all terrors we'll defy, Through him all dangers we'll defy,
And more than conquer all. And more than conquer all.

VIII.

Nor death, nor life, nor heaven, nor hell, Nor death nor life, nor earth nor hell,
Nor time's destroying sway, Nor time's destroying sway,

Can e'er efface us from his Heart, Can e'er efface us from his heart,
Or make his Love decay. Or make his love decay.

IX.

Each future period this will bless, Each future period that will bless,

As it has bless'd the past : As it has bless'd the past ;

He lov'd us from the first of time, He lov'd us from the first of time,

And loves us to the last. He loves us to the last.

Such is another example of the audacity of Logan in claiming as his own what
was, with the exception of verbal alterations, in print before his birth. It may be
stated that a singularly interesting, if over-violent and controversial, series of
papers on ' The Paraphrases,' appeared in the ' Free Church Magazine ' for 1847 ;
which papers were fiercely assailed in Macphail's 'Edinburgh Ecclesiastical
Journal' and in 'Tail's Magazine' of the same year. The discussion sprang out
of an alleged discovery of the Robert Burns authorship of ' The Paraphrases,'
which the ' Evangelicals' were disposed to push over-much against the ' Moderates.'
The Manuscript turned out to be, it is understood, Logan's, and shows that he
had much to do with the preparation of the ' Paraphrases,' as finally issued in
1781. Beyond doubt, what led him to his 'Paraphrase' studies were the Bruce
MSS., and above all the 'Gospel Sonnets,' so shamelessly and heartlessly sup
pressed and destroyed, as told ante.

MICH4EL BRUCE. 101

he himself lived to publish his Hymns t ' he would un
doubtedly have recorded that in these instances his were
only improved versions of older hymns ; just as Hums
>wledged the old songs ; which were so amended
by him, that no one cares to remember the original
verses." So much for the revised hymns, already sub
stantially existing in 1745 and 1755, and Logan's impu
dent publication of them as hit own. Dr Robertson of
Dalmeny earlier, and Chambers in his ' Cyclopaedia of
English literature' later, lay stress on Logan's publica
tion of the 'Ode to the Cuckoo* as hit own in the
volume of 1781 ; but here in the very same volume he
is found publishing as his own Hymns that we have seen
were printed substantially before he was born. The
man capable of doing the one is self-convicted as capable
of doing the other ; and he did it. Surely Phardrus
may here be cited :

' Quicunquc turpi fraude 8emcl iimotuit,
Etiam&i vcrum elicit, amittit fidcrn.'

I would thus render the couplet,

' He who is known, once, a base fraud t* have done,
speaking truth, believed is by none.'

Hymns wholly original. These are the 2d, gd,
4th, 6th, 7th, 8th, and pth in Logan's volume. The
whole evidence for the Bruce authorship of the ' Ode
to the Cuckoo ' belongs equally to them. They are the
' Gospel Sonnets ' to which old Mr Bruce referred
when he gave them this name, in allusion to the people's
classic, the « Gospel Sonnets' of Ralph Erskine, which,

1 The Rev. Peter Mearns, as before, p. 19.

ioz THE WORKS OF

— as having been composed in part while meditating in a
' plantation ' on the hill-side above the Manse of Port-
moak, then occupied by Ebenezer Erskine, — were lov
ingly read and sung in the ' Bishopshire ; ' they are what
Bruce the elder regarded as the jewels of the quarto
volume entrusted to Logan ; they are the ' sacred
pieces ' immediately missed by the Villagers when the
volume of 1770 reached ; they were personally com
mitted to memory (' learned by heart' is the expressive
Scotticism) by David Pearson, John Birrel, the Bicker-
tons, Arnots, Hendersons, and indeed the whole
Community between 1764 and 1767, or seventeen years
before Logan published them ; or, reckoning from 1767,
fourteen years. There were extant so recently as 1837
written copies of all, and bearing these dates, as Dr
Mackelvie discovered almost immediately after his edi
tion of the * Poems ' was issued, — as over and over he
assured me, and as I have since had confirmed by per
sons of indisputable integrity.1 And, further, James
Bruce, brother of the poet, — who lived until 1814, and
was a man of sterling worth, — declared in the most
solemn manner, from his own personal knowledge,
1 that all the Paraphrases published in Logan's name

1 Having had frequent conversations with the late Dr Mackelvie on the whole
subject of the Poems of Bruce, I was impressed with the amount of labour be
stowed by him in verifying every minutia of his book ; and I had the promise
from him, as well of above dated copies as of at least two (already published)
letters, part of ' Lochleven,' and other iwss. of Bruce. But his great infirmities
latterly made attention to any such things painful, and I forbore urging him.
With that kindling eye which all who knew him will remember, he said, ' Every
one of the eleven paraphrases belongs to Bruce — every one ; and if I ever print
the poems again, they'll all go in.' From one so judicious and conscientious this
was weighty ; but independent of it, we have all the above witness-bearing to
superadd to Logan's proved self-appropriation of the two Hymns printed before
he was born.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 103

were written by his brother Michael , that he had often
read them, heard them often repeated, and frequently
sung portions of them in Buchan's class long before the
addition to the Assembly's collection was heard of/ i>.
the final Collection of the present Paraphrases, which
was published in 1781.' Finally, be it kept in mind,
Logan destroyed the MS. quarto volume into which Bruce bad
ribed the whole, and which would no doubt have
shown whatever was old in the revised Hymns, and
what were Brace's own entirely. Besides other ' sacred
pieces/ Hymns and Paraphrases are known to have
been included in the volume ; so that we can appeal to
the emphasis of good David Pearson : ' They may as
well ascribe to Logan the framing of the universe as
the writing of these poems.'2

The only reservation which it is necessary to make
is, that Logan appears to have made ' verbal changes.'
This seems to have been a principle with him, in order
to satisfy his ' dregs of conscience ' in his claim there
upon to the entire authorship. His own procedure has
put it out of our power to get at any ' improvements '
that he may have made. If we may judge from his
'improvements' in 1781 of the 'Ode to the Cuckoo'
of 1770, these can't have been great. One admires at
the Logan-like assurance of one of his Biographers,
who boasts of personal intimacy, — on the whole matter :
' Bruce might have left hymns in a more or less polished

Mackelvie, a* before, p. 104 ; and let any one disposed to undervalue his
testimony, or that of Peanon and Birrel and the others, recall Cicero's words.
' Idoneus quidem mea ten tent ia, pnewrtim quum et ipse cum andiverit, ut scribal
de mortuo : ex quo nuHa suspicio est, amicitue causa, cum esse mcntitum '
* Dr Mackelvie, a* before, p. 105.

io4 THE WORKS OF

state, and these hymns might have been altered, em
bellished, and published by Logan as his own.'1 What
a supposition ! What an admission ! What a com
mentary upon his ' publishing as his own ' the first and
fifth of the Hymns with his (stolen) f alterations ' and
' embellishments !' * O Shame, where is thy blush ?'

Confirmatory of all the external evidence, we have in
regard to one of the Paraphrases — viz. The Complaint
of Nature, selected stanzas of which make the eighth
of the Collection now in use — striking internal evidence.
We have only to place three stanzas — the seventh,
eighth, and ninth — in juxtaposition with a fragment in
Bruce's handwriting, which has been preserved, in order
to trace one mind in both : —

f When chill the blast of winter blows,

Away the summer flies ;
The flowers resign their sunny robes,
And all their beauty dies.

' Nipt by the year, the forest fades ;

And, shaking to the wind,
The leaves toss to and fro, and streak
The wilderness behind.

( The winter past, reviving flowers

Anew shall paint the plain ;
The woods shall hear the voice of spring,
And flourish green again.'

Now for the fragment in prose : —
* The hoar-frost glitters on the ground, the frequent
leaf falls from the wood, and tosses to and fro driven in

1 Life of Logan, prefixed to his Poems. Bell and Bradfute, 1812.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 105

the wind. The summer is gone with all her flowers ;

summer ! the season of the muses.

. " Yet not the more
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt,
Clear Spring, or shadie grove, or sunnie hill." '

' It was on a calm morning, while yet the darkness
strove with the doubtful twilight, I rose and walked out

" Under the opening eyelids of the morn." ' '
Compare also these stanzas from Bruce's ' Elegy ' : —

' Loos'd from the bands of frost, the verdant ground
Again puts on her robe of cheerful green,
Again puts forth her flow'rs, and all around
Smiling the cheerful face of Spring is seen.
Thus have I walk'd along the dewy lawn,
My frequent foot the blooming wild hath worn ;
Before the lark I've sung the beauteous dawn,
And gather'd health from all the gales of morn.
And even when winter chilled the aged year,
I wander'd lonely o'er the hoary plain ;
Tho* frosty Boreas warned me to forbear,
Boreas, with all his tempests, warn'd in vain.'

Internal evidence is not very much to be depended on,
as the present Writer has had occasion to prove, while
this is being passed through the press, in the case of
' The Paradoxes' of Herbert Palmer ;a but in combina
tion with such seven-fold external evidence as has been
adduced, it is an element not to be despised. It is a
misrepresentation of matter of fact in Chambers* Cyclo
paedia of English Literature — whoever may be responsible

1 Dr Mackdvie failed to observe these two quotations from Milton (Paradise
Lost, book iii. lines 36-28; and Lycidas, line a6). By reading 'shadow' for
•shady ' also, the sense » confused.

9 See ' Lord Bacon not the Author of "The Christian Paradoxes," being a re-
print of "Memorials of Godlines** by Herbert Palmer, B.D. With Introduction,
Memoir, and Note*, by the Rev. A. B. Gnxart. Fer frmttt rimlatim. 1864.

io6 THE WORKS OF

for it — that Dr Mackelvie rested his claim for Bruce to the
authorship of this Paraphrase upon the * resemblances '
presented. Having given irrefragable external proof,
these ' resemblances ' were added ; and the interweaving
of the lines from Paradise Lost and Lycidas, instead of
weakening, strengthens the evidence in favour of Bruce,
knowing as we do how lovingly he studied Milton.1

Without the shadow of hesitation, then, in retro
spect of the evidence adduced, the 'Ode to the
Cuckoo,' and the hymns and paraphrases appropri
ated by Logan, together with one of the two revised
hymns, are included in the Works of Michael Bruce";
from which may no sacrilegious hand ever withdraw
them. Such may suffice. I wish tondere non deglubere ;
and indeed it were to waste so fine a thing as righteous
anger, to add much more on the literary delinquencies
of John Logan. I pause not, therefore, to show — which
might easily be done — how, in his no doubt ' elegant '
Sermons, he has appropriated Sherlock, and Blair, and
Zollikofer, and numerous others. They were published
posthumously; and he must have the benefit of that.
Neither do I enter into his astounding candidature for

1 It is somewhat vexatious to find Mr Robert Chambers so very ' shifty ' in re
lation to Bruce. In his Correspondence with Dr Mackelvie he is all acquiescence ;
and on the appearance of the Doctor's edition in 1837, an admirable paper appeared
in his Journal (No. 292, September 2, 1837), unhesitatingly recognising Bruce's
claims, and with cordial admiration giving the ' Ode to the Cuckoo ' as his ; and
lo ! in his ' Cyclopaedia of English Literature,' without a tittle of further evidence,
one way or another, it is carelessly inserted under Logan, with the extra
ordinary statement that Logan's authorship never was questioned during his life
time, whereas his most earnest defenders could only urge that he asserted his
' innocence,' — a word that involves not merely questioning but accusation, such as
we know to have been over and over made during his lifetime. One regrets such
slips, from the very love and gratitude cherished for this 'lealest' and truest of
Scotland's sons. I don't refer to the Life in ' Eminent Scotsmen,' as it was written
by a Mr Hogg.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 107

one of the Chairs of the University, on the basis of a
course of ' Lectures ' which were afterwards shown not
to have been his own, by their publication, unchallenged,
during his own lifetime, by Dr William Rutherford.
Defence ' of Hastings, his • Runnymede,* and other
ventures lie beneath the ' small dust ' of oblivion. We
will not disturb them.

Concerning the man as a man and as a minister of the
gospel, it is impossible to speak without reprobation. His
life was unwholesome, unclean, base and embased ; for it
were to speak ' smooth things ' where rough truth is de
manded, to describe the flagitious course of this clerical
Champion (for he might have sat to M. About), this
clerical scapegrace of mean and meagre nature and un
true to the very core, — by the euphemisms of gentle Dr
Anderson, e.g. ' deviations from the modes of the world,
and violations of professional decorum, which offended
his parishioners, and made it eligible for him to discon
tinue the exercise of his clerical function,' though even
he had to write, 'He grew burdensome to himself, and
with the usual weakness of men so diseased, eagerly
snatched that temporary relief which the bottle sup
plies.'1 We spare the remainder ; for we could not
quote, without reproof, apology so misplaced. And yet
we have pity for the prematurely old and desolate wretch,

1 As before, in Life of Logan. Chambers in hi< ' Biographical Dictionary of
under Logan (Division VI.), famishes one of a hundred

illustrations of his miserable condition even early : 'An aged parishioner of Mr
Logan mentioned to a friend of the editor of this work, that he was present in
church one day, when the conduct of the reverend gentleman was such as to in
duce an old man to go up, and, in no very respectful language, call upon the
to descend from the pulpit which he disgraced. Such an anecdote, if
read immediately after perming one of the elegant discourses of Logan, would

io8 THE WORKS OF

trembling with the trembling of fourscore within his
fortieth year. If his Biographers tell true, one catches
a glimpse of him in an attitude of, at the least, remorse
ful penitence. He is said, away in one of the lanes of
London, whither he had skulked, to have called in the
neighbours' children, and gathering one or two about his
knees, to have got them to read the Bible to him. It
brims one's eyes with tears to read of it. It moves to pity :
it excites hope. * God forbid ' that we should hold even
of one so * fallen,' of one so false to such shy genius, and
such saintly worth, as that of Michael Bruce, — not to say
to trust so sacred, — there could not be divinely given
1 turning' and the divine 'cry' right through the gathering
dark, Christ- ward. But while 'judging not' of his soul's
destiny, — in the interests of Literature and of Right,
JOHN LOGAN must be branded as heartlessly false to a
dead young friend, and be spoiled of the lustrous-eyed fea
thers with which, at another's cost, he — as sooty a bird
as ever ventured among ' sweet singers ' — decked himself.
Of the other ' Poems ' published in 1770, the follow
ing have been claimed for Logan : — 'Damon, Menalcas,
and Melibceus : an Eclogue ;' ' Pastoral Song,' to the
tune of 'The Yellow-hair'd Laddie ;' 'Eclogue in the
manner of Ossian ;' 'Ode to a Fountain;' the two
' Danish Odes ;' ' Chorus, of Anacreontic to a Wasp ;'

form a singular illustration of the propinquity which sometimes exists between
the pure and impure, the lofty and the degraded, in human character' (p. 492).

I must add, that in the course of my literary researches I have been brought
pretty near to Logan, by his own letters, by letters of contemporaries, by
anecdotes, and other data ; and I know not that a more false life has ever been
lived, — the worst of all falsity moreover, seeing it is a serving the devil while wear
ing Christ's livery. It may be needful, some day, to reveal all, though personally
I should prefer silence, save only where Bruce's claims come in for defence.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 109

the tale of 'Levina' in 'Lochleven;' and the 'Ode to
Paoli : ' that is to say, of the entire sevtntten pieces which
composed the little volume, ELEVEN are to be appro
priated to Logan ; one at least, ' the Vernal Ode,' r

• Foulis, Bart.; and, according to the 'Preface/ some
others to ' other gentlemen.' And yet, while thus leav
ing, say FIVE short pieces to Bruce, out of the scixntfrn,
the volume was published as

POEMS

OM

SEVERAL OCCASIONS

•v
MICHAEL BRUCE '

It were no great loss though it could be shown that
all the pieces named were not Bruce's. But inasmuch
as ( I ) Logan did not place any of them in his volume of
1781, or in any of the editions published during his life
time ; and inasmuch as (2) He nvwhfre publicly claimed
any of them, though, as we have seen, swift to re-claim
the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' and to publish as his own the
nns ;' and inasmuch as (3) The fragments of Bruce's
MSS. preserved after the spoiling of Logan, show the
germs of ' Levina ' in ' Lochleven,' and traces of various
of the others, confirmed by Pearson and Birrel ; and
inasmuch as (4) Dr Anderson, spite of Dr Robertson's
letter, in which above list is enumerated (dated Septem
ber Ipth, 1795), and for which I am indebted to Dr
Laing of the Signet Library, — assigns nearly all to Bruce,

1 It is a Law-maxim of Coke. ' Cum duo inter se pugnantia reperiuntur in testa-
mento, ultimtim nttim c-t.' The principle holds here. The volume is a 'deed/

II,' and the ' first ' statement, not the last, is binding. That first
that Bruce was the author of all the Poems.

no THE WORKS OF

and excludes the whole from Logan ; and finally, inas
much as (5) Other Editors have unhesitatingly given all
to Bruce, — the whole, save the * Vernal Ode ' of Sir
James Foulis, will be found in our edition.

In estimating the position of Michael Bruce among the
minor Poets of our Country, three things must be remem
bered.

1. That the ' Ode to the Cuckoo' and the ' Hymns/
being proven to be his, we have in them a token of what,
had years been given him, he might and would have done.

2. That the quarto volume into which he had trans
cribed all his Poems under the shadow of departure, was
DESTROYED by Logan. It probably contained many
such gems as those named. I strongly suspect that the
ballad of the * Braes of Yarrow/ and the Tale com
mencing, * Where pastoral Tweed, renown'd in song/
were, in substance, from his Muse, not Logan's.

3. That he died only three months beyond his, twenty-
first year. This explains the immaturity of his taste, and
his echoes of Milton and Thomson, Gray and Collins,
and Young and other poets.

But as it is, this volume of the ' Works ' of our Poet
deserves a place among the genuine ' MakkarsJ Even
in his barest productions, as ' Lochleven ' and * The
Last Day/ there are bits of description not at all un
worthy of the master, Thomson. Thus, —

e Fair from his hand behold the village rise,
In rural pride, 'mong intermingled trees !
Above whose aged tops the joyful swains,
At even-tide descending from the hill,
With eye enamoured, mark the many wreaths

MICHAEL BRUCE. in

Of pillared smoke, high-curling to the clouds.
The streets resound with Labour's various voice,

whistles at his work. Gay on the green,
Young blooming boys, and girls with golden hair,
Trip nimble-footed, wanton in their play,

illage hope. All in a reverend row,

grey-haired grandsires, sitting in the sun,
Before the gate, and leaning on the staff,
The well-remembered stories of their youth
Recount, and shake their aged locks with joy.

How fair a prospect rises to the eye,
\V here Beauty vies in all her vernal forms,
For ever pleasant, and for ever new !

Is the exulting thought, expands the soul,
Drowning each ruder care : a blooming train
Of bright ideas rushes on the mind.
Imagination rouses at the scene ;
And backward, through the gloom of ages past,
Beholds Arcadia, like a rural queen,
Encircled with her swains and rosy nymphs,
The mazy dance conducting on the green.
Nor yield to old Arcadia's blissful vales
Thine, gentle Leven ! Green on either hand
Thy meadows spread, unbroken of the plough,
\Vith beauty all their own. Thy fields rejoice
With all the riches of the golden year.
Fat on the plain, and mountain's sunny side,
Large droves of oxen, and the fleecy flocks,
Feed undisturb'd ; and fill the echoing air
With music, grateful to the master's ear.

• Livelier stops, and gazes round and round
O'er all the scenes, that animate his heart

i mirth and music. Ev'n the mendicant,
Bowbent with age, that on the old grey stone,
Sole sitting, suns him in the public way,
Feels his heart leap, and to himself he sings.'

There are, too, lines that reveal the poet's eye and the
poet's ear. Thus, how exquisitely imitative is this of

n» THE WORKS OF

the startled f crane/ winging its laboured flight to its
hiding-place among the reeds of the Lake : —

' In the dusky air

The slow-winged crane mov'd heavily o'er the lee,
And shrilly clamour'd as he sought his nest.'

Then how delicate this is :

' Twilight trembles o'er the misty hills.'

Here are two fine pictures, of a village beauty and of a
mountain stream :

' She reddened like the morning, under veil
Of her own golden hair.'

f A rivulet pure

Bursts from the ground, and through the crumbled crags
Tinkles amusive.'

There is grandeur in this ' spectacle ' in the ' Last Day : '

1 Heard'st thou that crash ?
There fell the tow'ring Alps.'

The ballad of ' Sir James the Ross ' may compare
with * Hardynute ' and ' Owen of Carron.'

There are epithets also, that, though grown familiar
now, were uncommon then. They lie like the gleaming
dew, lucent as it, and as sparkling. One is memorable,
* eyeless darkness,' which might take its place in Mac
beth. Is it a reminiscence of the * eyeless night ' of
Shakespeare (King John v. 6) that certain asinine edi
tors misread ' endless ?' Another, ' The inexorable doors
of death,' may bear comparison with Mrs dive's so
much admired ' insuperable threshold.' But his ' unfail
ing crown ' is the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' and his Hymns
that for well-nigh a century have interpreted the praises

MICHAEL BRUCE. 113

of Scotchmen to Him who has assured us that ' whoso
praiseth, glorifieth Him. is and lines of the latter

are interwoven with our language. I have seen a vast
Multitude in ' this England ' of ours, and also over the
Atlantic, stirred as by an electric thrill of emotion — the
hearts of many moved as the heart of one — by the
dim.ix of a missionary appeal being barbed with the
grand Millennial stanza : —

' The beam that shines from Zion hill

Shall lighten every land ;
The King who reigns in Satan's tow'rs
Shall all the world command.'

I have found lines also of these Hymns carved on tomb
stones in far-away ' God's Acres ' and in many lan
guages — if not in the very words, certainly closely ren
dering the thought. Who may number the tear-wet
eyes that have been turned Upward by this — to select
only another stanza ?

* A few short years of evil past,

We reach the happy shore,
Where death-divided friends at last

Shall meet to part no more.'

And then there is his 4 Elegy in Spring,' so brave, so
sonorous, so sunny-hearted spite of coming night, so in
stinct with unconscious pathos as the eye is introverted
upon the ' dim taper,' so assured and yet so tender in
its hope, so dove-like mournful, and so dove-like Zion-
haunting, so covetous of the green grave by ' Lochleven,'
beside his boy-friend Arnot, and so lofty in its anticipa
tion, after the long rest of * the eternal day.' It will
do us all good to read the closing stanzas, and to pause
upon the italicized lines : —

H

ii4 THE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE.

i Now spring returns : but not to me returns

The vernal joy my better years have known ;
Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns,

And all the joys of life with health are flown.

' Starting and shiv'ring in th' inconstant wind,

Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was,
Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclined,

And count the silent moments as they pass :

' The winged moments, whose unstaying speed

No art can stop, or in their course arrest ;
Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead,
And lay me down in peace with them at rest.

( Oft morning-dreams presage approaching fate ;
And morning-dreams, as poets tell, are true.
Led by pale ghosts, I enter death's dark gate,
And bid the realms of light and life adieu.

' I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of wo ;

I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore,

The sluggish streams that slowly creep below,

Which mortals visit, and return no more.

' Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains !

Enough for me the churchyard's lonely mound,
Where melancholy with still silence reigns,

And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground.
' There let me wander at the shut of eve,

When sleep sits dewy on the labourer s eyes :
The world and all its busy follies leave,

And talk with Wisdom where my Daphnis lies.

1 There let me sleep forgotten in the clay,

When death shall shut these weary, aching eyes ;
Rest in the hopes of an eternal day,

Till the long night is gone, arid the last morn arise.'

Surely, with all abatements, there is only another
English * Elegy ' to be placed beside it.

ALEXANDER B. GROSART.

APPENDIX TO MEMOIR.
A. — SEE PAGE 21.

Letter of Mitbafl Bnut to ' Mr David Amott of Portmoag ,' from
the family MSS. of the pre tent Mr Arnot of Port moot.

DEAR SIR, — You may remember you were inquiring, the bat
time I had the pleasure of your company, who the Hutchin-
sonians are. Perhaps you know. I then did not; but have
since learnt something of them. Mr Hut chin son, from whom
they take their name, was an English gentleman, skilled in the
Hebrew ; and denied that the vowels or points belonged to t he-
language. His reason for this was thought to be a disposition to
criticise on the sacred writings, in which he has been followed by
some in our own Nation. When once they have discarded the
vowel-points, they may give very different readings, and conse
quently significations, to many words. But what he was most
famous for was, that he published a work in two volumes,
called, I think, Principia Mosx, a kind of commentary on the
Old Testament, but particularly the Pentateuch and Psalms.
The most part of the Old Testament, but especially these afore
said, he holds [to be] symbolical, and in every sentence finds
meanings which none but himself and some of his followers can
see. Every part of the Psalms, he says, refers to the Messiah ; or,
to use the words of an honest enthusiast of him, ' he finds the
Saviour in every word.' The whole work is a confused piece of
absurdity (they say who have read it), filled with trifling allegories
and far-fetched conceits. To give one instance: The flaming
the gate of Paradise, according to him, was ap
pointed to show the way to the tree of life, not to guard the
way. It is said there are few passages of Scripture in which,

n6 THE RVRKS OF

either in the translation he has not found some concealed mean
ing, or altered the translation for the sake of an allegory. You
will let me know if this agrees with any hints you have met with
of these people.1

There is a manuscript of Longinus, lately found in the Library
of the Benedictine Monks at Rome, containing a comparison of
some passages of Holy Writ, with some [of] the heathen poets.
I lately saw some extracts from k. Homer, says this judicious
critic, ' makes the forest tremble at the approach of the Deity ;
but the Jewish poet says, " The earth did melt like wax at Thy
Presence ;"* and indeed in every respect their Jehovah is superior
to our Jupiter.' And so he goes on in a great number of passages,
always giving the preference to the Book of God.*

I saw Mrs Wallace this day, and received a letter to you.
She has not yet got the tscritore or glass, but is to use diligence.
I design to make one last effort on R. Hill, before I give up my
commission, to resume it no more. I have not got Shep. Par.?
It was sold before I came over, not above a shilling. I ask your
pardon for not sending your seeds before now. They were
bought two weeks ago, but neglected to be sent by a forgetful-
ness in your affectionate MICHAEL BRUCE.

EDINBURGH, AJrilm. 1765.

P^S. — I remember one who shall be nameless here, in a letter to
a young man, has these words, ' Si mihi, nfl novi publici, etc^
rescribis ; nfl boni vel jucundi, etc., communicas ; vel tui fastidii
vel ignavfce, si non aegritudinis argumentum habebo : et tui a me
nfl amplius audkndi voluntas.*4 Pray could such an one fail in
the same article ? You may believe I am not a little chagrined
on being so cruelly disappointed. I have sent the seeds and Mrs
W.'s letter.— ii o'clock night.

1 For a fist of the Writings of this singular laic Theologian, see Affihone's
' Dictionary of British and American Authors,' «*• mtmtnir, where will also he

us. of this wwrk Brace refers.— G.

England Puritan hook.— G.
^Tbisisnodoubtaqootation&oaioocofMr AnxXt'sown Latin fctteis. See

MICHAEL BRUCE.

R— SEE PACE 24.
Two Letter tjrvm Mr Davti Arnott, Portmoag, to Brute.

in the Latin ; for Arnott and Bruce were wool to inter-
;e Latin epistles,— a somewhat noticeable thing in rela-
tion to a small Scottish * Laird ' of the eighteenth century.
I .atin is somewhat caninf, it must be conceded ; and
therefore we prefer giving a translation to the rugged origi
nal. From the present M r A rnot of Portmoak's Family M ss.

MY DEAR SIR,— I lately received your kttcr, in which you
inquire respecting the health of our family. I have to -
reply, that it is now at well as could be wished ; but, alas, how
frail is it ! and in this dubious path of life how liable every fleet
ing moment to fail us ! I am now desirous, in my turn, to hear
that you are well, and successfully advancing in your studies. I
hope and trust that you are still persisting in the course and pur
suing the track which leads to the summit of learning, and con
sequently to honours. For there is no difficulty which labour
may not obviate. Avail yourself uf the opportunity which is now
in your power. If neglected, it will never return. For as in the
river wave presses upon wave, so in reference to Time does day
upon day.' And as nothing is more shameful than the squander
ing away of time, so many, seriously, though too late, deplore
it as a loss beyond all calculation. If in this spring-time of life
you sow the seeds of learning, you have ground to expect here
after a most abundant harvest, — a harvest agreeable to your
parents, and honourable to yourself. Thus is h, my dear sir,
that * he who would make the gain must take the pain." Give
to your studies whatever you take from sleep or recreation.
This path has been trod by all who have ever rendered themselves
illustrious for their distinguished learning. Degenerate souls steal
their own time and that of others. They are a dishonour to
their family and their country. Avoid them as you love yourself,
and keep them at a distance. But, above all, let piety have the

1 'Tniditur die* die.' Horace (Car. ii. i8\ ' Urgct diem nox et dies noclem.'— C.
joi e ou

n8 THE WORKS OF

ascendant in your heart and pursuits ; and modesty, without
which I value as nothing, whatever may be mastered by laborious
application. These are the groundwork of all true learning, by
which whatever is reared on them upholds and proclaims its own
stability. Without piety, what are learned men but bladders
inflated with wind ; whereas the humble, endued with virtue, are
agreeable to themselves and useful to others.

It was out of my power last week to answer your letter with
regard to the book, and equally impossible is it for us to recall
your letter. But what an abundance of books is there in the
world ! In these, however, a systematic method should be ob
served, whether in consulting, reading, or purchasing, — not such
books as are good, but such as are the best.

Enclosed you will receive a memorandum. When you have
perused the letters to R. Hill and J. Thomson, you will peruse
their object and connection. These letters deliver to them
sealed. Farewell, and regard me with affection.

DAVID ARNOTT.

PORTMOAG, Jan. 24, 1763.

II. We give here the entire Letter of this guide and friend of our
poet. It is taken from a scroll-copy, also preserved among
the family MSS. of the present Mr Arnot of Portmoak. It
will be noticed that the opening ' Sir,' and other antique
touches, recall the gracely stateliness of the correspondence
of our forefathers, especially when addressing those in lower
social grade, as was Bruce to this worthy f Laird.' The
present Letter was written in acknowledgment of ( Daphnis :
a Monody ' on the death of young Arnott.

SIR, — I owe an answer to your most elegant lines, which you
must account to be delayed hitherto, and not neglected. Neither
are you to impute it to my want of love to you, nor regard for
you, but to the fulness of my confidence in you, and the fre
quent occasions of seeing you, which now seem to be at an end
in so far. On which account I am made to inquire where you
now dwell, and what you are now conversant about, and whether
or not this storm has freezed your pen, your hands, and feet,
that we neither see you nor hear from you. As I said, I own my

MICHAEL BRUCE. 119

obligations to you for the regard you show for me and the
deceast in your elegant composition, procured without any
or good offices from me r and I no less admire your sin
gular vein and happy turn, whereby you're pleased and able not
only to play the poet, but strenuously to imitate and equal those
writers of this kind, in style, numbers, phrase, etc., whose feme
will never decay. Learned sir, I desire and hope you will pro
ceed with your essays, and that exercise and use may perfect him
whom nature will have to be a poet.

• Sublial fariaa sidcra wtkc."

Nothing hinders great attempts so much as delay. You now
profess the study of divinity , and is not this divinity ? None
can compose a learned, a grave and instructing poem, save he
that is above humanity. Rut I stop, knowing that they who
are most deserving are the least fond of praise; and I know
nothing new which I can now impart to you, either for instruc
tion or amusement.

Being abroad lately, I heard (you'll readily have feared it ere
now) of Mr D[ryburg]h, — his being infected seemingly with his
brother's mortal disease. A pain in his leg and a loss of appetite
hare seized him ; he goes not out. What may hinder you from
making a step down to see him? Alas! had we our senses
about us, we would see all our earthly relations and comforts fast
decaying. But, alas ! man wishes life, that

Local sub ipsum funu* et «cpulcri ii

I know you'll be fearing the loss of him ; for it often happens
that, as a whirlpool swallows up the rich ship in a surprize, so
doth death such as have the better genius and learning above
their years, beyond our expectation and before our desire.1 But
[illegible . . .] pray impart to me something that may be in
structive in the now common calling of education or otherwise,

1 Horace.— G.

' This is an inaccurate quotation or accommodation from Horace (Car. ii 18 .
whose words are—

Locas sob ipsum funus et, scpulcri
Immemor, struis domos,' etc. — G.

3 This fellow-student of Bruce died immediately after this date. See Elegy
thereupon.— G.

lao THE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE.

as you have now the prize put into your hand of getting experi
ence, etc.; and wherein I can serve you, command me. I am
sensible that the charge of the education of children, as it is
honourable, so it is heavy. Philip, king of Macedonia, had this
view of it, and understood how much it serves the interest of
virtue, when, in the letters he sent with his son to Aristotle, he
testified how much he was indebted to the gods, not so much
for a son being born to him, as for his being born at such a time,
when he might be privileged with such a teacher.

As man is the most noble creature, so much the more pains
are to be employed in cultivating of him. Surely the geniuses
of youth will lie dormant as to all glorious and praiseworthy
actions, if they be wanting which should rub them up, as the
most fruitful soils will be barren without cultivation. But here
there is surely much need of prudence, for as some ground re
quires the stronger plough, so another plot will be manured with
an easy hand ; and some think that there are none of such an
evil, hard, and obstinate disposition, but they may be made
tractable by serious and sedulous bringing up, if so be they
understand themselves to be loved by them who educate and
instruct them. The dispositions of some, when more roughly
handled, or too much kept in, turn desperate, even as the ex
halations, when pent up within the clouds, turn into thunder.
With some, force must be used ; forbearance will do with the
most. As in disease, they are the surest and safest medicines
which draw out or correct the noxious blood. By little and
little you have the advantage of spurring them up by emulation,
which seldom fails. This in some measure I want. But whither
am I carried ? Observing my little [illegible . . .] esteem for you,
I suspect [= expect ?] my boy (?) to join with you in reading.
Geordie readily will ; and you'll begin with Mr Wood * when
he comes over. I am very willing to join with you as far as
opportunity answers.

May He who in all things gives the increase, cherish, ripen, and
preserve you in your labours and studies.

[DAVID ARNOTT.]

1 Probably the once celebrated Edinburgh teacher of elocution ; who was
also manager of the Theatre, and the friend of Fergusson. — G.

to tfjt Cucttoo,

NOTE.

The letters a, b, c, etc. , refer to the respective Notes at close of the
volume. Those throughout bearing the initials M'K, are from Dr Mac-
kelvie. For all the others, in the body of the book and in these Notes,
having my initial, I am responsible. G.

ODE:

TO THE CUCKOO.'
I.

HAIL, beauteous Stranger of the wood !

Attendant on the Spring !
Now heav'n repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.

ii.
Soon as the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear :
Hast them a star to guide thy path,

Or mark the rolling year?

in.
Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flow'rs,
When heav'n is fill'd with music sweet

Of birds among the bowers.

IV.

The schoolboy wand'ring in the wood

To pull the flow'rs so gay,
Starts, thy curious voice to hear,

And imitates thy lay.

' See Memoir, pp. 83-86, for the so-called 'improvements' of Logan; and for
account of the teventh stanza, now for the first time inserted — < •

i24 THE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE.

v.

Soon as the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fly'st thy vocal vale,
An annual guest, in other lands,

Another Spring to hail.

VI.

Sweet bird ! thy bow'r is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year !

VII.

Alas ! sweet bird ! not so my fate,

Dark scowling skies I see
Fast gathering round, and fraught with woe

And wintry years to me.

VIII.

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee:
We'd make, with social wing,

Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the Spring.

$i?mn0 antr

I.

THE COMPLAINT OP NATURE.'

FEW are thy days and full of woe,

O man of woman born !
Thy doom is written, dust thou art,

And shall to dust return.

Determin'd are the days that fly

Successive o'er thy head ;
The numbered hour is on the wing,

That lays thee with the dead.

Alas ! the little day of life

Is shorter than a span ;
Yet black with thousand hidden ills

To miserable man.

Gay is thy morning, flattering Hope

Thy sprightly step attends ;
But soon the tempest howls behind,

And the dark night descends.

1 The Eighth Paraphrase in the well-known 'Translations and Paraphrases,'
issued by the Church of Scotland, consists of selected verses from this poem. It
is hymn second in Logan's volume of 1781. See Memoir, pp. 104-106. The initial
stanza was one of those preserved in the Villagers' memories long previous to
publication in 1781, by Logan, the 'Complaint' having been sung in Buchan's
music-class in 1764. Cf. Memoir, pp. 93, 94, 101, and 103.— G.

128 TtiE WORKS OF

Before its splendid hour the cloud
Comes o'er the beam of light;

A Pilgrim in a weary land,
Man tarries but a night.

4

Behold ! sad emblem of thy state,
The flowers that paint the field;

Or trees, that crown the mountain's brow,
And boughs and blossoms yield.

When chill the blast of Winter blows,

Away the Summer flies,
The flowers resign their sunny robes,

And all their beauty dies.

Nipt by the year the forest fades;

And shaking to the wind,
The leaves toss to and fro, and streak

The wilderness behind.

The Winter past, reviving flowers

Anew shall paint the plain,
The woods shall hear the voice of Spring,

And flourish green again.

But man departs this earthly scene,

Ah ! never to return !
No second Spring shall e'er revive

The ashes of the urn.

Th' inexorable doors of death
What hand can e'er unfold ?

Who from the cearments of the tomb
Can raise the human mold 1

MICHAEL BRUCE. 119

nighty flood that rolls along
Its torrents to the main,
The waters lost can ne'er recall
From that abyss again.

The days, the years, the ages, dark

Descending down to night,
Can never, never be redeem'd

Back to the gates of light

So Man departs the living scene,

To Night's perpetual gloom ;
The voice of Morning ne'er shall break

The slumbers of the tomb.

Where are our Fathers t Whither gone

The mighty men of old I
'The Patriarchs, Prophets, Princes, Kings,

In sacred books inroll'd.

* Gone to the resting-place of man.

The everlasting home,
Where ages past have gone before,

Where future ages come.'

Thus Nature pour*d the wail of woe,

And urged her earnest cry ;
Her voice in agony extreme

Ascended to the sky.

Th' Almighty heard : then from His throne

In majesty He rose;
And from the Heaven, that open'd wide,

His voice in mercy flows.

i

i3o THE WORKS OF*

1 When mortal man resigns his breath,
And falls a clod of clay,

The soul immortal wings its flight,
To never-setting day.

* Prepar'd of old for wicked men
The bed of torment lies;

The just shall enter into bliss
Immortal in the skies.'1

ii.

THE LORD GOD OMNIPOTENT.2

WHO can resist th' Almighty arm

That made the starry sky ?
Or who elude the certain glance

Of God's all-seeing eye ?

From Him no cov'ring vails our crimes j

Hell opens to His sight ;
And all Destruction's secret snares

Lie full disclosed in light.

Firm on the boundless void of space

He poised the steady pole,
And in the circle of His clouds

Bade secret waters roll.

While nature's universal frame

Its Maker's power reveals,
His throne, remote from mortal eyes,

An awful cloud conceals.

1 See Note (a) at close of the Volume for the ' Paraphrase ' from 'The Com
plaint.'— G.

2 The ninth of the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before : Job xxvi. 6-14. — G.

MICHAEL BRUCB.

From where the rising day ascends,

To where it sets in night,
He compasses the floods with hot.

And checks their threat'ning might

The pillars that support the sky

Tremble at His rebuke ;
Through all its caverns quakes the earth,

As though its centre shook.

He brings the waters from their beds,

Although no tempest blows,
And smites the kingdom of the proud

Without the hand of foes.

With bright inhabitants above

He fills the heav'nly land,
And all the crooked serpent's breed

Dismay'd before Him stand.

Few of His works can we survey ;

These few our skill transcend :
But the full thunder of His pow*r

What heart can comprehend f

THE CALL OF WISDOM/

treets, and op'nings of the gates,
Where pours the busy crowd,
Thus heav'nly Wisdom lifts her voicCj
And cries to men aloud :

The tenth of the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before : Prov. i. 30-31.— C.

i3a THE WORKS OF

How long, ye scorners of the truth,

Scornful will ye remain 1
How long shall fools their folly love,

And hear my words in vain ?

O turn, at last, at my reproof !

And, in that happy hour,
His bless'd effusions on your heart

My Spirit down shall pour.

But since so long, with earnest voice,

To you in vain I call,
Since all my counsels and reproofs

Thus ineffectual fall ;

The time will come, when humbled low,

In Sorrow's evil day,
Your voice by anguish shall be taught,

But taught too late, to pray.

When, like the whirlwind, o'er the deep

Comes Desolation's blast :
Prayers then extorted shall be vain,

The hour of mercy past.

The choice you made has fix'd your doom ;

For this is Heaven's decree,
That with the fruits of what he sow'd

The sinner fill'd shall be.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 133

IV.

O HAPPY is the man who hears
Instruction's warning voice,

And who celestial Wisdom makes
His early, only choice.

For she has treasures greater far
Than East or West unfold,

And her reward is more secure
Than is the gain of gold

In her right hand she holds to view

A length of happy years;
And in her left, the prize of Fame

And Honour bright appears.

She guides the young, with innocence,
In Pleasure's path to tread,

A crown of glory she bestows
Upon the hoary head.

According as her labours rise,

So her rewards increase,
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,

And all her paths are peace.*

1 This is the eleventh of the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before. It is
Hymn fourth in Logan's volume of 1781. See Memoir, pp. 93-95, 101-104.
Prov. Hi. 13-17.— G.

» See Note (*) at dose of the Volume for variations. -G.

i34 THE WORKS OF

v.

ATONING SACRIFICE.1

THUS speaks the heathen : How shall man

The Power Supreme adore !
With what accepted off rings come

His mercy to implore ?

Shall clouds of incense to the skies

With grateful odour speed ?
Or victims from a thousand hills

Upon the altar bleed?

Does justice nobler blood demand

To save the sinner's life ?
Shall, trembling, in his offspring's side

The father plunge the knife?

No : God rejects the bloody rites

Which blindfold zeal began ;
His oracles of truth proclaim

The message brought to man.

He what is good hath clearly shown,

O favour'd race ! to thee ;
And what doth God require of those

Who bend to him the knee ?

Thy deeds, let sacred justice rule ;

Thy heart, let mercy fill ;
And, walking humbly with thy God,

To Him resign thy will.

1 This is the thirty-first of the 'Translations and Paraphrases,' as before
Micah vi. 6-9. See Memoir, pp. 92-95, 101-104. — G.

MICfMEL BRUCE. 135

VI.
SIMEON WAITING.'

WHEN Jesus, by the Virgin brought,

So runs the law of Heaven,
Was offerM holy'to the Lord,

And at the altar given ;

Simeon the Just and the Devout,

Who frequent in the fane
Had for the Saviour waited long,

But waited still in vain ;

Came Heaven-directed at the hour

When Mary held her son ;
He stretched forth his aged arms,

While tears of gladness run:

With holy joy upon his face

The good old father smiled,
While fondly in his witherM arms

He clasp'd the promis'd child.

And then he lifted up to Heaven

An earnest asking eye ;
My joy is full, my hour is come,

Lord let thy servant die.

At last my arms embrace my Lord,

Now let their vigour cease ;
At last my eyes my Saviour see,

Now let them dose in peace!

1 This, altered, makes the thirty-eighth Paraphrase, as before. It is Hymn
eighth in Logan's volume. See Memoir, pp. 101-104. See Note <c) for the Ver-

136 THE WORKS OF

The star and glory of the land
Hath now begun to shine;

The morning that shall gild the globe
Breaks on these eyes of mine !

VII.
SORROW NOT AS WITHOUT HOPE.1

TAKE comfort, Christians, when your friends

In Jesus fall asleep ;
Their better being never ends ;

Why then dejected weep?

Why inconsolable, as those

To whom no hope is given ?
Death is the messenger of peace,

And calls the soul to heaven.

As Jesus died, and rose again

Victorious from the dead ;
So his disciples rise, and reign

With their triumphant Head.

The time draws nigh, when from the clouds
Christ shall with shouts descend,

And the last trumpet's awful voice
The heav'ns and earth shall rend.

Then they who live shall changed be,
And they who sleep shall wake ;

The grave shall yield their ancient charge,
And earth's foundations shake.

1 This is the fifty-third of the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' as before
Thess. iv. 13-28. See Memoir, pp. 101-104. — G.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 137

The saints of God, from death set free,

With joy shall mount on high ;
The heav'nly host, with praises loud

Shall meet them in the sky.

Together to their Father's house

With joyful hearts they go ;
And dwell for ever with the Lord,

Beyond the reach of woe,

A few short years of evil past,

We reach the happy shore,
Where death-divided friends at last

Shall meet, to part no more.

VIII.
THE ENTHRONED HIGH PRIEST.'

WHERE high the heavenly temple stands
The house of God not made with hands,
A great High Priest our Nature wears,
The Patron of mankind appears.

He who for men in mercy stood,
And pour'd on earth His precious blood,
Pursues in Heaven His plan of Grace,
The Guardian God of human race.

Tho' now ascended up on high,
He bends on earth a brother's eye,
Partaker of the human name,
He knows the frailty of our frame.

•This is the fifty-eighth of the 'Translations and Paraphrases,' as before. See
Memoir, pp. 101-104.— G.

138 THE WORKS OF

Our fellow-sufferer yet retains
A fellow-feeling of our pains ;
And still remembers in the skies
His tears, and agonies, and cries.

In every pang that rends the heart,
The Man of Sorrows had a part ;
He sympathises in our grief,
And to the sufferer sends relief.

With boldness, therefore, at the throne
Let us make all our sorrows known,
And ask the aids of heavenly power,
To help us in the evil hour.

IX.
DYING IN THE LORD.1

THE hour of my departure's come;
I hear the voice that calls me home :
At last, O Lord ! let trouble cease,
And let thy servant die in peace.

The race appointed I have run;
The combat's o'er, the prize is won;
And now my witness is on high,
And now my record's in the sky.

Not in mine innocence I trust ;
I bow before thee in the dust;
And through my Saviour's blood alone
I look for mercy at Thy throne.

1 This forms ' Hymn V.' of the five Hymns appended to the 'Translations and
Paraphrases,' as before. See Memoir, pp. 101-104. Every one will feel how
it breathes the very spirit of our young dying Poet ; and also how incongruous it
is with Logan's. — G.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 139

I leave the world without a tear,
Save for the friends I held so dear ;
To heal their sorrows, Lord, descend,
And to the friendless prove a friend

I come, I come, at Thy command,
I give my spirit to Thy hand ;
Stretch forth Thine everlasting arms,
And shield me in the last alarms.

The hour of my departure's come :
I hear the voice that calls me home :
Now, O my God 1 let trouble cease ;
Now let Thy servant die in peace.

x.

TRUST IN PROVIDENCE.1

ALMIGHTY Father of mankind,

On Thee ray hopes remain ;
And when the day of trouble comes,

I shall not trust in vain.

Thou art our kind Preserver, from

The cradle to the tomb;
And I was cast upon thy care,

Even from my mother's womb.

In early days thou wast my guide,

And of my youth the friend ;
And as my days began with Thee,

With Thee my days shall end.

This is Hymn third in Logan's volume of 1781. See Memoir, pp. 101-104.— G

i4o THE WORKS OF

I know the Power in whom I trust,
The arm on which I lean;

He will my Saviour ever be,
Who has my Saviour been.

In former times, when trouble came,
Thou didst not stand afar;

Nor didst thou prove an absent friend
Amid the din of war.

My God, who causedst me to hope,
When life began to beat,

And when a stranger in the world,
Didst guide my wandering feet;

Thou wilt not cast me off, when age

And evil days descend ;
Thou wilt not leave me in despair,

To mourn my latter end.

Therefore in life I'll trust to Thee,

In death I will adore;
And after death will sing thy praise,

When time shall be no more.

XI.
ADVENT OF THE MESSIAH/

BEHOLD ! th' Ambassador divine,
Descending from above,

1 This, somewhat altered, makes the twenty-third of the ' Translations and
Paraphrases,' as before. It is Hymn sixth in Logan's volume of 1781. See
Memoir, pp. 101-104. — G.

We give this Hymn as it appears in the final Version of the ' Paraphrases,' as

MICfUBL BRUCE. 141

To publish to mankind the law
Of everlasting love !

On Him in rich effusion pour'd

The heavenly dew descends ;
And truth divine He shall reveal,

To earth's remotest ends.

No trumpet-sound, at His approach,

Shall strike the wondering ears ;
But still and gentle breathe the voice

In which the God appears.

By His kind hand the shaken reed

Shall raise its falling frame ;
The dying embers shall revive,

And kindle to a flame.

The onward progress of His zeal
Shall never know decline,

in all probability it furnishes a specimen of Logan'* ' improvement! ' upon what
he found in the Brace MS*., while the text, as above, represents more nearly
what Bruce wrote. The same holds of our test of what » the eighth Paraphrase,
compared with 'The Complaint of Nature' (pp. 1*7-130, and note «); the eleventh
Paraphrase, compared with ' Heavenly Wisdom' (p. 133) ; the thirty-eighth Para
phrase, compared with 'Simeon Waiting' (pp. 135, 136) ; and the fiiry-dghth
Paraphrase, compared with 'The Enthroned High Priest' (pp. 137. 138) :-

Behold my Servant! see Him rise The feeble spark to flames HeU raise .

Exalted in my might ! The weak will not despise :

Him have I chosen, and in Him Judgment He shall bring forth to truth.

I place supreme delight And make the (alien rise.

( )n Him. in rich effusion pour'd. The progress of His seal and powV

My Spirit than descend: Shall never know decline.

My truths and judgments He shall show THl foreign lands and distant isles
To earth's remotest end. Receive the bw divine.

Gentle and stHl shall be His voice. He who erected heaven's bright arch.
No threats from Him proceed : And bade the planets roll,

The smoking flax He shall not quench. Who peopled all the climes of earth.
Nor break the bruised reed. And form'd the human soul,

14* THE WORKS OF

Till foreign lands and distant isles
Receive the law divine.

He who spread forth the arch of Heaven,

And bade the planets roll,
Who laid the basis of the earth,

And form'd the human soul.

Thus saith the Lord, ' Thee have I sent,

A Prophet from the sky,
Wide o'er the nations to proclaim

The message from on high.

' Before thy face the shades of death

. Shall take to sudden flight,
The people who in darkness dwell
Shall hail a glorious light j

Thus saith the Lord, Thee have I rais'd, And future scenes, predicted now,

My Prophet thee install ; Shall be accomplish'd too.

In right I've rais'd thee, and in strength

I'll succour whom I call. Sing to the Lord in joyful strains !

Let earth His praise resound,
I will establish with the lands Ye who upon the ocean dwell,

A covenant in thee, And fill the isles around !

To give the Gentile nations light,

And set the pris'ners free : O city of the Lord ! begin

The universal song ;
Asunder burst the gates of brass ; And let the scatter'd villages

The iron fetters fall ; The cheerful notes prolong.

And gladsome light and liberty

Are straight restor'd to all. Let Kedar's wilderness afar

Lift up its lonely voice ;
I am the Lord, and by the name And let the tenants of the rock

Of great JEHOVAH known ; With accents rude rejoice ;

No idol shall usurp My praise,

Nor mount into My throne. Till 'midst the streams of distant lands

The islands sound His praise ;
Lo ! former scenes, predicted once, And all combin'd, with one accord,

Conspicuous rise to view ; JEHOVAH'S glories raise.

MICtUEL BRUCE. 143

4 The gates of brass shall 'sunder burst,

The iron fetters fall ;
The promis'd jubilee of Heaven

Appointed rise o'er all.

' And lo ! presaging Thy approach,

The Heathen temples shake,
And trembling in forsaken fanes,

The fabled idols quake.

* I am Jehovah : I am One :

My name shall now be known ;
No Idol shall usurp my praise,

Nor mount into my throne.'

Lo, former scenes, predicted once,

Conspicuous rise to view ;
And future scenes, predicted now,

Shall be accomplished too.

Now sing a new song to the Lord !

Let earth His praise resound ;
Ye who upon the ocean dwell,

And fill the isles around.

O city of the Lord ! begin

The universal song ;
And let the scattered villages

The joyful notes prolong.

Let Kedar's wilderness afar
up the lonely voice ;
And let the tenants of the rock
With accent rude rejoice.

144 THE WORKS OF

O from the streams of distant lands

Unto Jehovah sing !
And joyful from the mountain tops

Shout to the Lord the King !

Let all combined with one accord
Jehovah's glories raise,

Till in remotest bounds of earth
The nations sound his praise.

XII.
THE APPROACHING SAVIOUR.1

MESSIAH ! at Thy glad approach

The howling wilds are still ;
Thy praises fill the lonely waste,

And breathe from every hill.

The hidden fountains, at Thy call,

Their sacred stores unlock ;
Loud in the desert sudden streams

Burst living from the rock.

The incense of the Spring ascends

Upon the morning gale ;
Red o'er the hill the roses bloom

The lilies in the vale.

Renew'd, the earth a robe of light,

A robe of beauty wears ;
And in new heavens a brighter Sun

Leads on the promised years.

1 This is the seventh Hymn in Logan's volume of 1781. See Memoir, pp. 101-104.
-G.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 145

The kingdom of Messiah come,
Appointed times disclose ;

And fairer in Emmanuel's land
The new Creation glows.

Let Israel to the Prince of Peace
The loud Hosannah sing !

With Hallelujahs and with hymns,
O Zion, hail thy King !

REVISED HYMN.

BEHOLD ! the mountain of the Lord

In latter days shall rise,
Above the mountains and the hills,

And draw the wondering eyes.

To this the joyful nations round

All tribes and tongues shall flow,
Up to the Hill of God they'll say,

And to his house we'll go.

The beam that shines on Zion hill

Shall lighten every land ;
The King who reigns in Zion towers

Shall all the world command.

1 This is the eighteenth of the 'Translations and Paraphrases,' as before. See
Memoir, pp. 95-101. This revised Hymn is included among Brace's, became the
third stanza is indubitably hi*, and because of felicitous verbal alterations on the
older Version. His part in this fine Hymn may be likened to Kirke- White's sup-
plement to Waller's Song.— G.

i46 THE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE.

No strife shall vex Messiah's reign,

Or mar the peaceful years,
To ploughshares soon they beat their swords,

To pruning-hooks their spears.

No longer hosts encountering hosts,

Their millions slain deplore j
They hang the trumpet in the hall,

And study war no more.

Come then — O come from every land,

To worship at his shrine ;
And, walking in the light of God,

With holy beauties shine.

V We do not insert— 'O God of Bethel'— the second Paraphrase here, be
cause, as shown in our Memoir, it is taken almost bodily from Doddridge. The
verbal changes are very slight. Neither do we include the twenty-fifth, twenty-
seventh, nor twenty-eighth, inasmuch as, though ascribed partially to Logan,
and in all likelihood derived as the others were from the Bruce MSS., these
were revised and altered by Dr John Morrison of Canisbay, and it is now im
possible to distinguish their several portions. — G.

in Spring.

ELEGY:

WRITTEN IN SPRING.

Tis past : the iron North has spent his rage ;

Stern Winter now resigns the lengthening day ;
The stormy howlings of the winds asswage,

And warm o'er ether western breezes play.

Of genial heat and cheerful light the source,
From southern dimes, beneath another sky,

The sun, returning, wheels his golden course ;
Before his beams all noxious vapours fly.

Far to the north grim Winter draws his train
To his own clime, to ZEMBLA'S frozen shore;

Where, thron'd on ice, he holds eternal reign ;
Where whirlwinds madden, and where tempests roar.

Loos'd from the bands of frost, the verdant ground
Again puts on her robe of cheerful green,

Again puts forth her flow'rs ; and all around,
Smiling, the cheerful face of Spring is seen.

Behold! the trees new-deck their withered boughs;

Their ample leaves the hospitable plane,
The taper elm, and lofty ash, disclose ;

The blooming hawthorn variegates the scene.

i5o THE WORKS OF

The lily of the vale, of flow'rs the Queen,
Puts on the robe she neither sew'd nor spun :

The birds on ground, or on the branches green,
Hop to and fro, and glitter in the sun.

Soon as o'er eastern hills the morning peers,
From her low nest the tufted lark upsprings;

And, cheerful singing, up the air she steers ;

Still high she mounts, still loud and sweet she sings.

On the green furze, cloth'd o'er with golden blooms
That fill the air with fragrance all around,

The linnet sits, and tricks his glossy plumes,
While o'er the wild his broken notes resound.

While the sun journeys down the western sky,

Along the greensward, mark'd with ROMAN mound,

Beneath the blithesome shepherd's watchful eye,
The cheerful lambkins dance and frisk around.

Now is the time for those who wisdom love,
Who love to walk in Virtue's flow'ry road,

Along the lovely paths of Spring to rove,
And follow Nature up to Nature's GOD. (d)

Thus ZOROASTER studied Nature's laws ;

Thus SOCRATES, the wisest of mankind ;
Thus heav'n-taught PLATO trac'd th' Almighty cause,

And left the wond'ring multitude behind.

Thus ASHLEY gather'd Academic bays j
Thus gentle THOMSON, as the Seasons roll,

Taught them to sing the great CREATOR'S praise,
And bear their poet's name from pole to pole.

MICHJ£L BRUCE. 151

Thus have I walk'd along the dewy lawn ;

My frequent foot the blooming wild hath worn ;
Before the lark I've sung the beauteous dawn,

And gathcr'd health from all the gales of morn.

And, even when Winter rhill'd the aged year,
I wander'd lonely o'er the hoary plain ;

Tho' frosty Boreas warn'd me to forbear,
Boreas, with all his tempests, warn'd in vain.

Then, sleep my nights, and quiet bless'd my days ;

I tc:ir'd no loss, my MIND was all my store ;
No anxious wishes e'er disturb'd my ease ;

Heav'n gave content and health — I ask'd no more.

Now Spring returns: but not to me returns
The vernal joy my better years have known ;

Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns,
And all the joys of life with health are flown.

Starting and shiv'ring in th' inconstant wind,
Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was,

Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclin'd,
And count the silent moments as they pass :

The winged moments, whose unstaying speed
No art can stop, or in their course arrest ;

Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead,
And lay me down in peace with them that rest

Oft morning-dreams presage approaching fate ;

And morning-dreams, as poets tell, are true, (e)
Led by pale ghosts, I enter Death's dark gate,

And bid the realms of light and life adieu.

i5 a THE WORKS OF MICHAEL BRUCE.

I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of wo j
I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore,

The sluggish streams that slowly creep below,
Which mortals visit, and return no more.

Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains !

Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound,
Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns,

And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground.

There let me wander at the shut of eve,

When sleep sits dewy on the labourer's eyes,

The world and all its busy follies leave,

And talk with Wisdom where my DAPHNIS lies.

There let me sleep forgotten in the clay,

When death shall shut these weary aching eyes,

Rest in the hopes of an eternal day,

Till the long night's gone, and the last morn arise.

&i0rrll.?ncou0 flutes.

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.

WEAVING SPIRITUALIZED. (/)

A WEB I hear thou hast begun,
And know*st not when it may be done-
So death uncertain see ye fear —
For ever distant, ever near.

See'st thou the shuttle quickly pass —
Think mortal life is as the grass, —
An empty cloud — a morning dream —
A bubble rising on the stream.

The knife still ready to cut off
Excrescent knots that mar the stuff,
To stem affliction's rod compare —
Tis for thy good, so learn to bear.

Too full a quill oft checks the speed
Of shuttle flying by the reed —
So riches oft keep back the soul,
That else would hasten to its goal.

15 6 THE WORKS OF

Thine eye the web runs keenly o'er
For things amiss, unseen before, —
Thus scan thy life — mend what's amiss —
Next day correct the faults of this.

For when the web is at an end,
'Tis then too late a fault to mend —
Let thought of this awaken dread, —
Repentance dwells not with the dead.

INSCRIPTION ON A BIBLE.

Tis very vain for me to boast
How small a price my Bible cost,
The day of judgment will make clear
'Twas very cheap — or very dear, (g)

MICHAEL BRUCE. 157

THE LAST DAY.'

His second coming, who at first appeared
To save the world, but now to judge mankind
According to their works ; — the trumpet's sound, —
The dead arising, — the wide world in flames, —
The mansions of the blest, and the dire pit
Of Satan and of woe, O Muse ! unfold

0 Thou ! whose eye the future and the past
In one broad view beholdest — from the first
Of days, when o'er this rude unformed mass
Light, first-bom of existence (A), smiling rose,
Down to that latest moment, when thy voice
Shall bid the sun be darkness, when thy hand
Shall blot creation out, — assist my song !
Thou only know'st, who gav'st these orbs to roll
Their destin'd circles, when their course shall set ;
When ruin and destruction fierce shall ride

In triumph o'er creation. This is hid,
In kindness unto man. Thou giv*st to know
The event certain : angels know not when.'
Twas on an autumn's eve, serene and calm,

Iked, attendant on the funeral
Of an old swain : around, the village crowd
Ixxjuacious chatted, till we reach'd the place
\Vhere, shrouded up, the sons of other years

1 For occasion of this Poem, see p. 19 of Memoir— G
• Matt. xxir. 36.— M'K.

158 THE WORKS OF

Lie silent in the grave. The sexton there
Had digg'd the bed of death, the narrow house
For all that live, appointed. To the dust
We gave the dead. Then moralizing, home
The swains return'd, to drown in copious bowls
The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.

The sun now trembled at the western gate ;
His yellow rays stream'd in the fleecy clouds.
I sat me down upon a broad flat stone ;
And much I mused on the changeful state
Of sublunary things. The joys of life,
How frail, how short, how passing ! As the sea,
Now flowing, thunders on the rocky shore ;
Now lowly ebbing, leaves a tract of sand,
Waste, wide, and dreary : so, in this vain world,
Through every varying state of life, we toss
In endless fluctuation ; till, tir'd out
With sad variety of bad and worse,
We reach life's period, reach the blissful port,
Where change affects not, and the weary rest.

Then sure the sun which lights us to our shroud,
Than that which gave us first to see the light,
Is happier far. As he who, hopeless, long
Hath rode th' Atlantic billow, from the mast,
Skirting the blue horizon, sees the land,
His native land approach ; joy fills his heart,
And swells each throbbing vein : so, here confin'd,
We weary tread life's long long toilsome maze ;
Still hoping, vainly hoping, for relief,
And rest from labour. Ah ! mistaken thought :
To seek in life what only death can give.
But what is death ? Is it an endless sleep,
Unconscious of the present and the past,
And never to be waken'd ? Sleeps the soul ;

MICHAEL BRUCE. 159

Nor wakes ev*n in a dream t If it is so,

Happy the sons of pleasure ; they have livM

And made the most of life : and foolish he,

1lie sage, who, dreaming of hereafter, grudg'd

Him>elf the Listing of the sweets of life,

And call'd it temperance ; and hop'd for joys

More durable and sweet, beyond the g?

Vain is the poet's song, the soldier's toil !

Vain is the sculpture! marble and the bust !

How vain to hope for never-dying fame,

If souls can die ! But that they never die,

This thirst of glory whispers. Wherefore gave

The great Creator such a strong desire

He never meant to satisfy f These stones,

Memorials of the dead, with rustic art

And rude inscription cut, declare the soul

Immortal Man, form'd for eternity,

Abhors annihilation, and the thought

Of dark oblivion. Hence, with ardent wish

And vigorous effort, each would fondly raise

Some lasting monument, to save his name

Safe from the waste of years. Hence Caesar fought ;

Hence Raphael painted ; and -hence Milton sung.

Thus musing, sleep oppress'd my drowsy sense,
And wrapt me into rest Before mine eyes,
Fair as the morn, when up the flaming east
The sun ascends, a radiant seraph stood,
Crown'd with a wreath of palm : his golden hair

d on his shoulders, girt with shining plumes ;
From which, down to the ground, loose-floating trail'd,
In graceful negligence, his heavenly robe :
Upon his face, flush'd with immortal youth,
Unfading beauty bloom'd ; and thus he spake :

* Well hast thou judged ; the soul must be immortal !

160 THE WORKS OF

And that it is, this awful day declares ;

This day, the last that e'er the sun shall gild :

Arrested by Omnipotence, no more

Shall he describe the year : the moon no more

Shall shed her borrow'd light. This is the day

Seal'd in the rolls of Fate, when o'er the dead

Almighty Power shall wake and raise to life

The sleeping myriads. Now shall be approv'd

The ways of God to man, and all the clouds

Of Providence be clear'd (2) : now shall be disclos'd

Why vice in purple oft upon a throne

Exalted sat, and shook her iron scourge

O'er virtue, lowly seated on the ground :

Now deeds committed in the sable shade

Of eyeless darkness, shall be brought to light ;

And every act shall meet its just reward.'

As thus he spake, the morn arose ; and sure
Methought ne'er rose a fairer. Not a cloud
Spotted the blue expanse ; and not a gale
Breath'd o'er the surface of the dewy earth.
Twinkling with yellow lustre, the gay birds
On every blooming spray sung their sweet lays,
And prais'd their great Creator : through the fields
The lowing cattle graz'd ; and all around
Was beauty, happiness, and mirth, and love. —
< All these thou seest (resum'd the angelic power)
No more shall give thee pleasure. Thou must leave
This world ; of which now come and see the end.'

This said, he touch'd me, and such strength infus'd,
That as he soared up the pathless air,
I lightly followed. On the awful peak
Of an eternal rock, against whose base
The sounding billows beat, he set me down.
I heard a noise, loud as a rushing stream,

MICHJBL BRUCE. 161

When o'er the rugged precipice it roars,
And foaming, thunders on the rocks below.

mished, I gaz'd around ; when lo !
I saw an angel down from Heaven descend,
face was as the sun ; his dreadful height
Such as the statue, by the Grecian plan'd,
Of Philip's son, Athos, with all his rocks,
Moulded into a man (/) : One foot on earth,
And one upon the rolling sea, he fix'd.
As when, at setting sun, the rainbow shines
Refulgent, meting out the half of Heav'n —
So stood he ; and, in act to speak he rais'd
His shining hand. His voice was as the sound
Of many waters, or the deep-mouth'd roar
Of thunder, when it bursts the riven cloud,
And bellows through the ether. Nature stood
Silent, in all her works : while thus he spake : —
1 Hear, thou that roll'st above, thou radiant sun !
Ye heavens and earth, attend ! while I declare
The will of the Eternal. By his name
Who lives, and shall for ever live, I swear
That time shall be no longer."

He disappear'd. Fix'd in deep thought I stood,
At what would follow. Straight another sound ;
To which the Nile, o'er Ethiopia's rocks
Rushing in one broad cataract, were nought.
It seem'd as if the pillars that upheld
The universe, had fall'n ; and all its worlds,
Unhing'd, h;ul strove together for the way,
In cumbrous crashing ruin. Such the roar !
A sound that might be felt ! It pierc'd beyond
The limits of creation. Chaos roared ;
And heav'n and earth return'd the mighty noise. —

1 Rev. x. S.6.— M'K.

L

i6* THE WORKS OF

1 Thou hear'st,' said then my heav'nly guide, * the sound
Of the last trumpet. See, where from the clouds
Th' archangel Michael, one of the seven
That minister before the throne of God,
Leans forward ; and the sonorous tube inspires
With breath immortal. By his side the sword
Which, like a meteor, o'er the vanquish'd head
Of Satan hung, when he rebellious rais'd
War, and embroil'd the happy fields above.'

A pause ensued. The fainting sun grew pale,
And seem'd to struggle through a sky of blood ;
While dim eclipse impair'd his beam : the earth
Shook to her deepest centre ; Ocean rag'd,
And dash'd his billows on the frighted shore.
All was confusion. Heartless, helpless, wild,
As flocks of timid sheep, or driven deer,
Wandering, th' inhabitants of earth appear'd :
Terror in every look, and pale affright
Sat in each eye (k] ; amazed at the past,
And for the future trembling. All call'd great,
Or deem'd illustrious, by erring man,
Was now no more. The hero and the prince,
Their grandeur lost, now mingled with the crowd ;
And all distinctions, those except from faith
And virtue flowing : these upheld the soul,
As ribb'd with triple steel. All else were lost !

Now, vain is greatness ! as the morning clouds,
That, rising, promise rain : condens'd they stand,
Till, touch'd by winds, they vanish into air.
The farmer mourns : so mourns the helpless wretch,
Who, cast by fortune from some envied height,
Finds nought within him to support his fall.
High as his hopes had rais'd him, low he sinks
Below his fate, in comfortless despair.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 163

"Who would not laugh at an attempt to build
A lasting structure on the rapid stream
Of foaming Tigris (/), the foundations laid
Upon the glassy surface t Such the hopes
( )f him whose views are bounded to this world :
Immers'd in his own labour'd work, he dreams
Himself secure ; when, on a sudden down,
Torn from its sandy ground, the fabric falls !
He starts, and, waking, finds himself undone.1

Not so the man who on religion's base
His hope and virtue founds. Firm on the Rock
Of ages his foundation laid, remains,
Above the frowns of fortune or her smiles ;
I n every varying state of life, the same.
Nought fears he from the world, and nothing hopes.
With unassuming courage, inward strength
Emlu'd, resign'd to Heaven, he leads a life
Superior to the common herd of men,
Whose joys, connected with the changeful flood
Of fickle fortune, ebb and flow with it

Nor is religion a chimera : Sure
Tis something real. Virtue cannot live,
Divided from it As a sever'd branch
It withers, pines, and dies. Who loves not God,
That made him, and preserv'd, nay more — redeem'd,
Is dangerous. Can ever gratitude
Bind him who spurns at these most sacred ties ?
Say, can he, in the silent scenes of life,
Be sociable ? Can he be a friend ?
At best, he must but feign. The worst of brutes
An atheist is ; for beasts acknowledge God.
The lion, with the terrors of his mouth,

1 64 THE WORKS OF

Pays homage to his Maker ; the grim wolf,
At midnight, howling, seeks his meat from God.
Again th' archangel raised his dreadful voice.
Earth trembled at the sound. ' Awake, ye dead !
And come to judgment.' At the mighty call,
As armies issue at the trumpet's sound,
So rose the dead. A shaking first I heard,1
And bone together came unto his bone,
Though sever'd by wide seas and distant lands.
A spirit liv'd within them (m). He who made,
Wound up, and set in motion,' the machine,
To run unhurt the length of fourscore years,
Who knows the structure of each secret spring ;
Can He not join again the sever'd parts,
And join them with advantage*? This to man
Hard and impossible may seem ; to God
Is easy. Now, through all the darken'd air,
The living atoms flew, each to his place,
And nought was missing in the great account,
Down from the dust of him whom Cain first slew,
To him who yesterday was laid in earth,
And scarce had seen corruption ; whether in
The bladed grass they cloth'd the verdant plain,
Or smil'd in opening flowers ; or, in the 'sea,
Became the food of monsters of the Deep,
Or pass'd in transmigrations infinite
Through ev'ry kind of being. None mistakes
His kindred matter ; but, by sympathy
Combining, rather by Almighty Pow'r
Led on, they closely mingle and unite
But chang'd : for subject to decay no more,
Or dissolution, deathless as the soul,

1 Ezek. xxxvii. 7.— M'K.

MICHJEL BRUCE 165

The body is ; and fitted to enjoy
Eternal bliss, or bear eternal pain.

As when in Spring the sun's prolific beams
Have wak'd to life the insect tribes, that sport
And wanton in his rays at ev'ning mild,
Proud of their new existence, up the air,
In devious circles wheeling, they ascend,
Innumerable ; the whole air is dark :
So, by the trumpet rous'd, the sons of men,
In countless numbers, cover'd all the ground,
From frozen Greenland to the southern pole ;
All who ere liv*d on earth. See Lapland's sons,
Whose zenith is the pole ; a barb'rous race !
Rough as their storms, and savage as their clime,
Unpolish'd as their bears, and but in shape
Distinguish'd from them : Reason's dying lamp
Scarce brighter burns than instinct in their breast
With wand'ring Russians, and all those who dwelt
In Scandinavia, by the Baltic Sea ;
The rugged Pole, with Prussia's warlike race :
Germania pours her numbers, where the Rhine
And mighty Danube pour their flowing urns.

Behold thy children, Britain ! hail the light :
A manly race, whose business was amis,
And long uncivilised ; yet, train'd to deeds
Of virtue, they withstood the Roman power,
And made their eagles droop. On Morven's coast,
A race of heroes and of bards arise ;
The mighty Fingal, and his mighty son,
Who launch'd the spear, and touch'd the tuneful harp ;
With Scotia's chiefs, the sons of later years,
Her Kenneths and her Malcoms, warriors fam'd ;
Her generous Wallace, and her gallant Bruce.
See, in her pathless wilds, where the grey stones

1 66 THE WORKS OF

Are raised in memory of the mighty dead.

Armies arise of English, Scots, and Picts ;

And giant Danes, who, from bleak Norway's coast,

Ambitious, came to conquer her fair fields,

And chain her sons : But Scotia gave them graves !-

Behold the kings that fill'd the English throne !

Edwards and Henries, names of deathless fame,

Start from the tomb. Immortal William ! see,

Surrounding angels point him from the rest,

Who saved the State from tyranny and Rome.

Behold her poets ! Shakspeare, fancy's child ;

Spenser, who, through his smooth and moral tale,

Y-points fair virtue out ; with him who sung

Of man's first disobedience.1 Young lifts up

His awful head, and joys to see the day,

The great, th' important day, of which he sung.

See where imperial Rome exalts her height !
Her senators and gowned fathers rise ;
Her consuls, who, as ants without a king,
Went forth to conquer kings ; and at their wheels
In triumph led the chiefs of distant lands.
Behold, in Cannae's field, what hostile swarms
Burst from th' ensanguin'd ground, where Hannibal
Shook Rome through all her legions : Italy
Trembled unto the Capitol. If fate
Had not withstood th' attempt, she now had bow'd
Her head to Carthage. See, Pharsalia pours
Her murder'd thousands ! who, in the last strife
Of Rome for dying liberty, were slain,
To make a man the master of the world.

All Europe's sons throng forward ; numbers vast !
Imagination fails beneath the weight.

1 Milton.— G.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 167

What numbers yet remain ! Th' enervate race

Of Asia, from where Tanais rolls

O'er rocks and drear)- wastes his foaming stream,

To where the Eastern Ocean thunders round

The spicy Java ; with the tawny race

That dwelt in Afric, from the Red Sea, north,

To the Cape, south, where the rude Hottentot

Sinks into brute ; with those, who long unknown

Till by Columbus found, a naked race !

And only skill'd to urge the sylvan war,

That peopled the wide continent that spreads

From rocky Zembla, whiten'd with the snow

Of twice three thousand years, south to the Straits

Nam'd from Magellan, where the ocean roars

Round earth's remotest bounds. Now, had not He,

The great Creator of the universe,

Enlarg*d the wide foundations of the world,

Room had been wanting to the mighty crowds

That pour*d from every quarter. At his word,

Obedient angels stretch'd an ample plain,

Where dwelt his people in the Holy Land,

Fit to contain the whole of human race

As when the autumn, yellow on the fields,
Invites the sickle, forth the farmer sends
His servants to cut down and gather in
The bearded grain : so, by Jehovah sent,
His angels, from all corners of the world,
Led on the living and awaken'd dead
To judgment ; as, in th' Apocalypse,
John, gather'd, saw the people of the earth,

And kings, to Armageddon. Now look round

Thou whose ambitious heart for glory beats !
See all the wretched things on earth call'd great,
And lifted up to gods ! How little now

168 THE WORKS OF

Seems all their grandeur ! See the conqueror,

Mad Alexander, who his victor arms

Bore o'er the then known globe, then sat him down

And wept, because he had no other world

To give to desolation ; how he droops !

He knew not, hapless wretch ! he never learn'd

The harder conquest — to subdue himself.

Now is the Christian's triumph, now he lifts

His head on high ; while down the dying hearts

Of sinners helpless sink : black guilt distracts

And wrings their tortur'd souls ; while every thought

Is big with keen remorse, or dark despair.

But now a nobler subject claims the song.
My mind recoils at the amazing theme :
For how shall finite think of infinite 1
How shall a stripling, by the Muse untaught,
Sing Heaven's Almighty, prostrate at whose feet
Archangels fall ? Unequal to the task,
I dare the bold attempt : assist me Heaven !
From Thee begun, with Thee shall end my song !

Now, down from th' opening firmament,
Seated upon a sapphire throne, high rais'd
Upon an azure ground, upheld by wheels
Of emblematic structure, as a wheel
Had been within a wheel, studded with eyes
Of flaming fire, and by four cherubs led j
I saw the Judge descend. Around Him came
By thousands and by millions, Heaven's bright host.
About Him blaz'd insufferable light,
Invisible as darkness to the eye.
His car above the mount of Olives stay'd
Where last with his disciples He convers'd,
And left them gazing as He soar'd aloft
He darkness as a curtain drew around ;

MICHAEL BRUCE. 169

On which the colour of the rainbow shone,

Various and bright ; and from within was heard

A voice, as deep-mouth'd thunder, speaking thus :

1 Go, Raphael, and from these reprobate

Divide my chosen saints ; go separate

My people from among them, as the wheat

Is in the harvest several from the tares:

Set them upon the right, and on the left

Leave these ungodly. Thou, Michael, choose,

From forth th' angelic host, a chosen band,

And Satan with his legions hither bring

To judgment, from Hell's caverns ; whither fled,

They think to hide from my awakcn'd wrath,

Which chas'd them out of Heaven, and which they dread

More than the horrors of the pit, which now

Shall be redoubled sevenfold on their heads.'

Swift as conception, at his bidding flew
His ministers, obedient to his word.
And, as a shepherd, who all day hath fed
His sheep and goats promiscuous, but at eve
Dividing, shuts them up in different folds :
So now the good were parted from the bad ;
For ever parted ; never more to join
And mingle as on earth, where often past
For other each ; ev'n close Hypocrisy
Escapes not, but, unmask'd, alike the scorn
Of vice and virtue stands. Now separate,
Upon the right appeared a dauntless, firm,
Composed number : joyful at the thought
Of immortality, they forward look'd
With hope unto the future ; conscience, pleas'd,
Smiling, reflects upon a well-spent life ;
Heaven dawns within their breasts. The other crew,
Pale and dejected, scarcely lift their heads

lyo THE WORKS OF

To view the hated light : his trembling hand
Each lays upon his guilty face ; and now,
In gnawings of the never-dying worm,
Begins a hell that never shall be quench'd.

But now the enemy of God and man,
Cursing his fate, comes forward, led in chains,
Infrangible, of burning adamant,
Hewn from the rocks of Hell ; now too the bands
Of rebel angels, who long time had walk'd
The world, and by their oracles deceiv'd
The blinded nations, or by secret guile
Wrought men to vice, came on, raging in vain,
And struggling with their fetters, which, as fate,
CompelPd them fast. They wait their dreadful doom.

Now from his lofty throne, with eyes that blaz'd
Intolerable day, th' Almighty Judge
Look'd down awhile upon the subject crowd.
As when a caravan of merchants, led
By thirst of gain to travel the parch'd sands
Of waste Arabia, hears a lion roar,
The wicked trembled at his view ; upon
The ground they roll'd, in pangs of wild despair,
To hide their faces, which not blushes mark'd
But livid horror. Conscience, who asleep
Long time had lain, now lifts her snaky head,
And frights them into madness ; while the list
Of all their sins she offers to their view :
For she had power to hurt them, and her sting
Was as a scorpion's. He who never knew
Its wound is happy, though a fetter'd slave,
Chain'd to the oar, or to the dark damp mine
Confin'd ; while he who sits upon a throne,
Under her frown, is wretched. But the damn'd
Alone can tell what 'tis to feel her scourge

MICHAEL BRUCE. 171

In all its horrors, with her poison'd sting

Fix'd in their hearts. This is the Second Death.

Upon the Book of Life He laid his hand,
Clos'd with the seal of Heaven ; which op'd, He read
The names of the Elect GOD knows His own.1
' Come (looking on the right, He mildly said),
Ye of my Father blessed, ere the world
Was moulded out of chaos — ere the sons
Of GOD, exulting, sung at Nature's birth :
For you I left my throne, my glory left,
And, shrouded up in clay, I weary walk'd
Your world, and many miseries endur*d :
Death was the last For you I died, that you
Might live with me for ever, and in Heaven sit
On thrones, and as the sun in brightness, shine
For ever in my kingdom. Faithfully
Have ye approved yourselves. I hungry was,
And thirsty, and ye gave me meat and drink ;
Ye clothed me, naked ; when I fainting lay
In all the sad variety of pain,
Ye cheer'd me with the tenderness of friends ;
In sickness and in prison, me reliev'd.
Nay, marvel not that thus I speak : whene'er,

: by the dictates of fair charity,
Ye help'd the man on whom keen poverty
And wretchedness had laid their meagre hands,
And for my sake, ye did it unto me."

They heard with joy, and, shouting, rais'd their voice
In praise of their Redeemer ! Loos'd from earth,
They soarM triumphant, and at the right hand
Of the great Judge sat down ; who on the left
Now looking stern, with fury in His eyes,
Blasted their spirits, while His arrows fix'd

1 a Tim. ii. I9.—M-K • Matt «v. 41-45.— MK

17* THE WORKS OF

Deep in their hearts, in agonizing pain
Scorched their vitals, thus their dreadful doom
(More dreadful from those lips which us'd to bless)
He awfully pronounc'd. Earth at His frown
Convulsive trembled ; while the raging deep
Hush'd in a horrid calm his waves. ' Depart,'
(These, for I heard them, were his awful words !)
' Depart from me, ye cursed ! Oft have I strove,
In tenderness and pity, to subdue
Your rebel hearts ; as a fond parent bird,
When danger threatens, flutters round her young,
Nature's strong impulse beating in her breast.
Thus ardent did I strive : But all in vain.
Now will I laugh at your calamity,
And mock your fears : as oft, in stupid mirth,
Harden'd in wickedness, ye pointed out
The man who labour'd up the steep ascent
Of virtue, to reproach. Depart to fire
Kindled in Tophet for th' arch enemy,
For Satan and his angels, who, by pride,
Fell into condemnation ; blown up now
To sevenfold fury by th' Almighty breath.
There, in that dreary mansion, where the light
Is solid gloom, darkness that may be felt,1
Where hope, the lenient (n) of the ills of life,
For ever dies ; there shall ye seek for death,
And shall not find it : for your greatest curse
Is immortality. Omnipotence
Eternally shall punish and preserve.'

So said He ; and, His hand high lifting, hurl'd
The flashing lightning, and the flaming bolt,
Full on the wicked : kindling in a blaze

1 ' Stretch out thine hand toward heaven, that there may be darkness over the
land of Egypt, even darkness which may be felt.' — Ex. x. 21. — M'K.

MICHAEL BRUCE.

The scorched earth. Behind, before, around,
The trembling wretches, burst the quivering flames.
They turn'd to fly ; but wrath divine pursu'd
To where, beyond creation's utmost bound.
Where never glimpse of cheerful light arrived,
Where scarce e'en thought can travel, but, absorb'd,
Falls headlong down th' immeasurable gulf
Of Chaos — wide and wild, their prison stood
Of utter darkness, as the horrid shade
That clouds the brow of death. Its op'ned mouth
Belch'd sheets of livid flame and pitchy smoke.
Infernal thunders, with explosion dire,
RoarM through the fiery concave ; while the waves
Of liquid sulphur beat the burning shore,
In endless ferment O'er the dizzy steep
Suspended, wrapt in suffocating gloom,
The sons of black damnation shrieking hung.
Curses unutterable filled their mouths,

)us to hear ; their eyes rain'd bitter tears
Of agonizing madness, for their day

past, and from their eye repentance hid
For ever ! Round their heads their hissing brands
The Furies wav'd, and o'er the whelming brink
Impetuous urg'd them. In the boiling surge
They headlong fell. The flashing billows roar'd ;
And hell from all her caves return'd the sound.
The gates of flint, and tenfold adamant,
With bars of steel, impenetrably firm,
Were shut for ever : The decree of fate,
Immutable, made fast the pond'rous door.

* Now turn thine eyes,' my bright conductor said :
* Behold the world in flames ! so sore the bolts
Of thunder, launch'd by the Almighty arm,
Hath smote upon it Up the blacken'd air

174 *HE WORKS OF

Ascend the curling flames, and billowy smoke ;

And hideous crackling, blot the face of day

With foul eruption. From their inmost beds

The hissing waters rise. Whatever drew

The vital air, or in the spacious deep

Wanton'd at large, expires. Heard'st thou that crash ?

There fell the tow'ring Alps, and, dashing down,

Lay bare their centre. See, the flaming mines

Expand their treasures ! no rapacious hand

To seize the precious bane. Now look around :

Say, Canst thou tell where stood imperial Rome,

The wonder of the world ; or where, the boast

Of Europe, fair Britannia, stretch'd her plain,

Encircled by the ocean ? All is wrapt

In darkness : as (if great may be compar'd

With small) when, on Gomorrah's fated field,

The flaming sulphur, by Jehovah rain'd,

Sent up a pitchy cloud, killing to life,

And tainting all the air. Another groan !

'Twas Nature's last : and see ! th' extinguish'd sun

Falls devious through the void ; and the fair face

Of Nature is no more ! With sullen joy

Old Chaos views the havoc, and expects

To stretch his sable sceptre o'er the blank

Where once Creation smil'd : o'er which, perhaps

Creative energy again shall wake,

And into being call a brighter sun,

And fairer worlds ; which, for delightful change,

The saints, descending from the happy seats

Of bliss, shall visit. And, behold ! they rise,

And seek their native land : around them move,

In radiant files, Heaven's host. Immortal wreaths

Of amaranth and roses crown their heads ;

And each a branch of ever-blooming palm

MICHAEL BRUCE. 1 75

Triumphant holds. In robes of dazzling white,
Fairer than that by wintry tempests shed
Upon the frozen ground, array 'd, they shine,
.is the sun, when up the steep of Heav'n
He rides in all the majesty of light

But who can tell, or if an angel could,
Thou couldst not hear, the glories of the place
For their abode prepared ? Though oft on earth
They struggled hard against the stormy tide
Of adverse fortune, and the bitter scorn
Of hardcn'd villany — their life a course
( )f warfare upon earth ; these toils, when view'd
With the reward, seem nought The LORD shall guide
Their steps to living fountains, and shall wipe
All tears from ev'ry eye. The wintry clouds
That frown'd on life, rack up. A glorious sun,
That ne'er shall set, arises in a sky
Unclouded and serene. Their joy is full :
And sickness, pain, and death, shall be no more.

Dost thou desire to follow ? does thy heart
Beat ardent for the prize ? Then tread the path
Religion points to man. What thou hast seen,

: in thy heart retain : For, be assur'd,
In that last moment — in the closing act
Of Nature's drama, ere the hand of fate
Drop the black curtain, thou must bear thy part,
And stand in thine own lot '

This said, he stretch'd
His wings, and in a moment left ray sight

1 Dan. xii. i3.-M'K.

176 THE WORKS OF

LOCHLEVEN:

The Lake described in the following Poem is situated in the county of Kinross,
about twenty-seven miles north of Edinburgh, and seventeen south of Perth. In
magnitude and grandeur it is inferior to Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine, and in
picturesque beauty to several of the Highland lakes. It is, nevertheless, a noble
expanse of waters, of about ten miles circumference, variegated with several
islands, and lying in the bosom of verdant hills, and in the midst of well-cultivated
fields. Portions of shore-land, gained by a partial draining of the Lake, .are
covered with spruce and pine, and hide within them many fair sylvan nooks, as
do also the Islands.

The western quarter is by much the most picturesque, and is accordingly the
portion generally chosen by the artist as the proper subject for the pencil. It
besides contains the Castle, from which, as once having been the prison of Mary
Queen of Scots, the lake chiefly derives its celebrity.

Lochleven is famed for its trout, the high flavour and the bright colour of which
are said to arise chiefly from small red shell-fish, which abound in the lake, and
constitute their food. Its chief celebrity, however, as already hinted, arises from
its historical associations ; and this Sir Walter Scott, by his novel of The Abbot,
has tended greatly to increase. Some of these associations are alluded to in the
poem, and are now more amply detailed in the Notes. It is to be borne in mind,
that the writer of this poem is describing the scene as it presented itself to him
seventy years ago, and that, although in all its essential elements it is still the
same, yet in several of its characteristics it is considerably changed, the lake itself
having been reduced in size, and the adjoining lands greatly improved.

This Lake is to be distinguished from another of the same name situated on the
western coast of Scotland, which is an arm of the sea, in the vicinity of the far-
famed Glencoe, separating the county of Argyle on the south from Inverness-shire
on the north. That this latter lake has sometimes been mistaken for the former,
is shown by MacCulloch, as quoted by Chambers : ' I was much amused,' says he,
' by meeting here with an antiquary and virtuoso, who asked me where he should
find Lochleven Castle. He had been inquiring among the Highlanders, and was
very wrathful that he could obtain no answer. I was a little at a loss myself at
first, but soon guessed the nature of the blunder. He had been crazing himself
with Whittaker and Tytler, and Robertson and Chalmers, like an old friend of
mine, who used to sleep with the controversies under his pillow, and had come all
the way from England to worship at the shrine of Mary, stumbling, by some
obliquity of vision, on the wrong Lochleven.' — M'K. and G.

HAIL, native land ! where on the flow'ry banks
Of Leven, Beauty ever-blooming dwells;

MICHAEL BRUCE. 177

A wreath of roses, dropping with the dews
Of Morning, circles her ambrosial locks
Loose-waving o'er her shoulders ; where she treads,
Attendant on her steps, the blushing Spring
And Summer wait, to raise the various flow'rs
Beneath her footsteps ; while the cheerful birds
Carol their joy, and hail her as she comes,
Inspiring vernal love and vernal joy.

Attend, Agricola!1 who to the noise
Of public life preferr'st the calmer scenes
Of solitude, and sweet domestic bliss,
Joys all thine own ! attend thy poet's strain,
Who triumphs in thy friendship, while he paints,
The past'ral mountains, the poetic streams,
Where raptur'd Contemplation leads thy walk,
While silent Evening on the plain descends.

Between two mountains, whose o'erwhelming tops,
In their swift course, arrest the bellying clouds,
A pleasant valley lies. Upon the south,
A narrow op'ning parts the craggy hills;
Thro' which the lake, that beautifies the vale,
Pours out its ample waters. Spreading on,
And wid'ning by degrees, it stretches north
To the high Ochil, from whose snowy top
The streams that feed the lake flow thund'ring down.

The twilight trembles o'er the misty hills,
Trinkling with dews ; and whilst the bird of day
Tunes his etherial note, and wakes the wood,
Bright from the crimson curtains of the morn,
The sun appearing in his glory, throws
New robes of beauty over heav'n and earth.

1 Mr David AmoC. See Memoir, p. 16 and ebewhere.-G.

M

1 78 THE WORKS OF

O now, while Nature smiles in all her works,
Oft let me trace thy cowslip-cover'd banks,
O Leven ! and the landscape measure round.
From gay Kinross, whose stately tufted groves
Nod o'er the lake, transported let mine eye
Wander o'er all the various checquer'd scene,
Of wilds, and fertile fields, and glitt'ring streams,
To ruin'd Arnot / or ascend the height
Of rocky Lomond,2 where a riv'let pure
Bursts from the ground, and through the crumbled crags
Tinkles amusive. From the mountain's top,
Around me spread, I see the goodly scene !
Inclosures green, that promise to the swain
The future harvest ; many-colour'd meads ;
Irriguous vales, where cattle low, and sheep
That whiten half the hills j sweet rural farms
Oft interspers'd, the seats of past'ral love
And innocence ; with many a spiry dome
Sacred to heav'n, around whose hallow'd walls
Our fathers slumber in the narrow house.
Gay, beauteous villas, bosom'd in the woods,
Like constellations in the starry sky,
Complete the scene. The vales, the vocal hills,
The woods, the waters, and the heart of man,
Send out a gen'ral song ; 'tis beauty all
To poet's eye, and music to his ear.

1 The ruins of a castle on the Lomond Hills, and which appears to have been
atone time at the eastern extremity of the Lochleven, as Kinross is at the western.
Its position in this respect has been altered by the reduction of the lake. Kinross
and Arnot are mentioned by the poet to define the limits of the scene he intends to
describe.— M'K.

2 The range of hills which rises behind Kinnesswood, affording the best view of
the lake. Lieutenant-Colonel Miller, of Upper Urquhart, has lately attempted to
show, and with great plausibility, that the Lomond Hills are the Mons Grampius
of Tacitus. See Transactions of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, Part I.
vol. iv. 1830.— M'K.

MICHAEL BRUCE.

Nor is the shepherd silent on his hill,
His flocks around ; nor schoolboys, as they creep,
Slow pac'd, tow'rds school ; intent, with oaten pipe
They wake by turns wild music on the way.

Behold the man of sorrows hail the light !
New risen from the bed of pain, where late,
Toss'd to and fro upon a couch of thorns,
He wak'd the long dark night, and wish'd for morn.
Soon as he feels the quick'ning beam of hea v'n,
And balmy breath of May, among the fields
And flow'rs he takes his morning walk : his heart
Beats with new life ; his eye is bright and blithe ;
Health strews her roses o'er his cheek ; renew'd
In youth and beauty, his unbidden tongue
Pours native harmony, and sings to Heav'n.

In ancient times, as ancient Bards have sung,
This was a forest Here the mountain-oak
Hung o'er the craggy cliff, while from its top
The eagle raark'd his prey ; the stately ash
Rcar'd high his nervous stature, while below
The twining alders darken'd all the scene.1
Safe in the shade, the tenants of the wood
Assembled, bird and beast The turtle-dove
Coo'd, amorous, all the livelong summer's day.
Lover of men, the piteous redbreast plain'd,

1 In the first draught of the poem the following lines, which we think

' Beneath their covert slept the ruffian wolf
And fox invidious, with the lesser brood
That feed on life, or o'er the frighted wild
Pursue the trembling prey. Here, too, unscathed
By man, die graceful deer trip'd o'er the lawn,
Nor heard the barking of the decp-mouth'd hound
Nor sounding horn, nor fcar'd the guileful net'— M K

i8o THE WORKS OF

Sole-sitting on the bough. Blithe on the bush,

The blackbird, sweetest of the woodland choir,

Warbled his liquid lay; to shepherd-swain

Mellifluous music, as his master's flock,

With his fair mistress and his faithful dog,

He tended in the vale : while leverets round,

In sportive races, through the forest flew

With feet of wind; and, vent'ring from the rock,

The snow-white coney sought his ev'ning meal.

Here, too, the poet, as inspir'd at eve

He roam'd the dusky wood, or fabled brook

That piece-meal printed ruins in the rock,

Beheld the blue-eyed Sisters of the stream,

And heard the wild note of the fairy throng

That charm'd the Queen of heav'n, as round the tree

Time-hallow'd, hand in hand they led the dance,

With sky-blue mantles glitt'ring in her beam.

Low by the Lake, as yet without a name,
Fair bosom'd in the bottom of the vale,
Arose a cottage, green with ancient turf,
Half hid in hoary trees, and from the north
Fenc'd by a wood, but open to the sun.
Here dwelt a peasant, rev'rend with the locks
Of age, yet youth was ruddy on his cheek ;
His farm his only care ; his sole delight
To tend his daughter, beautiful and young,
To watch her paths, to fill her lap with flow'rs,
To see her spread into the bloom of years,
The perfect picture of her mother's youth.
His age's hope, the apple of his eye ;
Belov'd of Heav'n, his fair Levina grew
In youth and grace, the N*aiad of the vale.
Fresh as the flow'r amid the sunny show'rs

MICHAEL BRUCE. 181

Of May, and blither than the bird of dawn,
Both roses' bloom gave beauty to her cheek,
Soft-temper*d with a smile. The light of heav'n,
And innocence, illum'd her virgin-eye,
Lucid and lovely as the morning star.
Her breast was fairer than the vernal bloom
Of valley-lily, op'ning in a show'r ;
Fair as the morn, and beautiful as May,
The glory of the year, when first she comes
Array'cl, all -beauteous, with the robes of heav'n,
And breathing summer breezes ; from her locks
Shakes genial dews, and from her lap the flow'rs.
Thus beautiful she look'd ; yet something more,
And better far than beauty, in her looks
Appear'd : the maiden blush of modesty ;
The smile of cheerfulness, and sweet content ;
Health's freshest rose, the sunshine of the soul ;
Each height'ning each, effus'd o'er all her form
A nameless grace, the beauty of the mind.

Thus finish'd fair above her peers, she drew
The eyes of all the village, and inflam'd
The rival shepherds of the neighb'ring dale,
Who laid the spoils of Summer at her feet,
And made the woods enamour'd of her name.
But pure as buds before they blow, and still
A virgin in her heart, she knew not love ;
But all alone, amid her garden fair,
1 From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve,'1
She spent her days ; her pleasing task to tend
The flow'rs ; to lave them from the water-spring ;
To ope the buds with her enamour'd breath,
Rank the gay tribes, and rear them in the sun.

1 Milton : P. L. Book i. p. 743.— C.

i8a THE WORKS OF

In youth the index of maturer years,

Left by her school-companions at their play,

She'd often wander in the wood, or roam

The wilderness, in quest of curious flow'r,

Or nest of bird unknown, till eve approach'd,

And hemm'd her in the shade. To obvious swain,

Or woodman chanting in the greenwood glen,

She'd bring the beauteous spoils, and ask their names.

Thus ply'd assiduous her delightful task,

Day after day, till ev'ry herb she nam'd

That paints the robe of Spring, and knew the voice

Of every warbler in the vernal wood.

Her garden stretch'd along the river-side,
High up a sunny bank : on either side,
A hedge forbade the vagrant foot ; above,
An ancient forest screen'd the green recess.
Transplanted here by her creative hand,
Each herb of Nature, full of fragrant sweets,
That scents the breath of summer ; every flow'r,
Pride of the plain, that blooms on festal days
In shepherd's garland, and adorns the year,
In beauteous clusters flourish'd ; Nature's work,
And order, fmish'd by the hand of Art.
Here gowans, natives of the village green,
To daisies grew. The lilies of the field
Put on the robe they neither sow'd nor spun.
Sweet-smelling shrubs and cheerful spreading trees,
Unfrequent scatter'd, as by Nature's hand,
Shaded the flow'rs, and to her Eden drew
The earliest concerts of the Spring, and all
The various music of the vocal year :
Retreat romantic ! Thus from early youth
Her life she led ; one summer's day, serene

MICHAEL BRUCE. 183

And fair, without a cloud : like poet's dream

( )f vernal landscapes, of Elysian vales,

And islands of the blest ; where, hand in hand,

.;il Spring and Autumn rule the year,
And Love and Joy lead on immortal youth.

Twas on a summer's day, when early show'rs
Had wak'd the various vegetable race
To life and beauty, fair Levina strayM.
Far in the blooming wilderness she stray'd
To gather herbs, and the fair race of flow'rs,
That Nature's hand creative pours at will,
Beauty unbounded ! over Earth's green lap,
Gay without number, in the day of rain.
O'er valleys gay, o'er hillocks green she walk'd,
Sweet as the season, and at times awak'd
The echoes of the vale, with native notes
Of heart-felt joy, in numbers heav'nly sweet ;
Sweet as th* hosannahs of a Form of light,
A sweet-tongu'd Seraph in the bow'rs of bliss.

Her, as she halted on a green hill-top,
A quiver'd hunter spied. Her flowing locks,
In golden ringlets glitt'ring to the sun,
Upon her bosom play*d : her mantle green,
Like thine, O Nature ! to her rosy cheek
Lent beauty new ; as from the verdant leaf
The rose-bud blushes with a deeper bloom,
Amid the walks of May. The stranger's eye
Was caught as with etherial presence. Oft
He look'd to heav'n, and oft he met her eye
In all the silent eloquence of love ;
Then, wak'd from wonder, with a smile began :
* Fair wanderer of the wood ! What heav'nly Pow'r,

1 84 THE WORKS OF

Or Providence, conducts thy wand'ring steps
To this wild forest, from thy native seat •
And parents, happy in a child so fair 1
A shepherdess, or virgin of the vale,
Thy dress bespeaks ; but thy majestic mien,
And eye, bright as the morning-star, confess
Superior birth and beauty, born to rule :
As from the stormy cloud of night, that veils
Her virgin-orb, appears the Queen of heav'n,
And with full beauty, gilds the face of night.
Whom shall I call the fairest of her sex,
| And charmer of my soul ? In yonder vale,
Come, let us crop the roses of the brook,
And wildings of the wood : Soft under shade,
Let us recline by mossy fountain-side,
While the wood suffers in the beam of noon.
I'll bring my love the choice of all the shades ;
First fruits ; the apple ruddy from the rock ;
And clust'ring nuts, that burnish in the beam.

0 wilt thou bless my dwelling, and become
The owner of these fields 1 I'll give thee all
That I possess, and all thou seest is mine.'

Thus spoke the youth, with rapture in his eye,
And thus the maiden, with a blush began :
* Beyond the shadow of these mountains green,
Deep-bosom'd in the vale, a cottage stands,
The dwelling of my sire, a peaceful swain ;
Yet at his frugal board Health sits a guest,
And fair Contentment crowns his hoary hairs,
The patriarch of the plains : ne'er by his door
The needy pass'd, or the way-faring man.
His only daughter, and his only joy,

1 feed my father's flock ; and, while they rest,

MICHAEL BRUCE. 185

At times retiring, lose me in the wood,

Skill'cl in the virtues of each secret herb

That opes its virgin bosom to the Moon.

No flow'r amid the garden fairer grows

Than the sweet lily of the lowly vale,

The Queen of flow'rs— But sooner might the weed

That blooms and dies, the being of a day,

irae to match with yonder mountain oak,
That stands the tempest and the bolt of heav'n,
From age to age the monarch of the wood—

0 ! had you been a shepherd of the dale,
To feed your flock beside me, and to rest
With me at noon in these delightful shades,

1 might have list'ned to the voice of love,
Nothing reluctant ; might with yon have walk'd
Whole summer-suns away. At even-tide,
When heav'n and earth in all their glory shine
With the last smiles of the departing sun ;

When the sweet breath of Summer feasts the sense,
And secret pleasure thrills the heart of man ;
We might have walk'd alone, in converse sweet,
Along the quiet vale, and woo'd the Moon
To hear the music of true lovers' vows.
But fate forbids, and fortune's potent frown,
And honour, inmate of the noble breast
Ne'er can this hand in wedlock join with thine.
Cease, beauteous stranger ! cease, beloved youth !
To vex a heart that never can be yours,'

Thus spoke the maid, deceitful : but her eyes,
Beyond the partial purpose of her tongue,
Persuasion gain'd. The deep-enamour'd youth
Stood gazing on her charms, and all his soul
Was lost in love. He grasped her trembling hand,

186 THE WORKS OF

And breath'd the softest, the sincerest vows

Of love : ' O virgin ! fairest of the fair !

My one beloved ! Were the Scottish throne

To me transmitted thro' a scepter'd line

Of ancestors, thou, thou should'st be my Queen,

And Caledonia's diadems adorn

A fairer head than ever wore a crown.'

She redden'd like the morning, under veil
Of her own golden hair. The woods among,
They wander'd up and down with fond delay,
Nor mark'd the fall of ev'ning ; parted then,
The happiest pair on whom the sun declin'd.

Next day he found her on a flow'ry bank,
Half under shade of willows, by a spring,
The mirror of the swains, that o'er the meads,
Slow-winding, scatter'd flow'rets in its way.
Thro' many a winding walk and alley green,
She led him to her garden. Wonder-struck,
He gaz'd, all eye, o'er th' enchanting scene :
And much he praised the walks, the groves, the flow'rs,
Her beautiful creation ; much he prais'd
The beautiful creatress ; and awak'd
The echo in her praise. Like the first pair,
Adam and Eve in Eden's blissful bow'rs,
When newly come from their Creator's hand,
Our lovers liv'd in joy. Here, day by day,
In fond endearments, in embraces sweet,
That lovers only know, they liv'd, they lov'd,
And found the paradise that Adam lost.
Nor did the virgin, with false modest pride,
Retard the nuptial morn : she fix'd the day
That bless'd the youth, and open'd to his eyes

MICHAEL BRUCE. 187

An age of gold, the heav'n of happiness
That lovers in their lucid moments dream.

And now the Morning, like a rosy bride
Adorned on her day, put on her robes,
Her beauteous robes of light : the Naiad streams.
Sweet as the cadence of a poet's song,
Flow*d down the dale : the voices of the grove,
And ev'ry winged warbler of the air,
Sung over bead, and there was joy in heav'n.
Ris'n with the dawn, the bride and bridal-maids
Str.ivM thro' the woods, and o'er the vales, in quest
Of flow'rs, and garlands, and sweet-smelling herbs,
To strew the bridegroom's way, and deck his bed.

Fair in the bosom of the level Lake
Rose a green island, cover'd with a spring
Of flow'rs perpetual, goodly to the eye,
And blooming from afar. High in the midst,
Between two fountains, an enchanted tree
Grew ever green, and every month renew'd
Its blooms and apples of Hesperian gold,
Here ev'ry bride (as ancient poets sing)
Two golden apples gathered from the bough,
To give the bridegroom in the bed of love,
The pledge of nuptial concord and delight
For many a coming year. Levina now
Had reach 'd the isle, with an attendant maid,
And pull'd the mystic apples, pull'd the fruit ;
But wish'd and long*d for the enchanted tree.
Not fonder sought the first created fair
The fruit forbidden of the mortal tree,
The source of human woe. Two plants arose
Fair by the mother's side, with fruits and flow'rs

1 88 THE WORKS OF

In miniature. One, with audacious hand,
In evil hour she rooted from the ground.
At once the island shook, and shrieks of woe
At times were heard, amid the troubled air.
Her whole frame shook, the blood forsook her face,
Her knees knock'd, and her heart within her dy'd.
Trembling and pale, and boding woes to come,
They seized the boat, and hurried from the isle.

And now they gain'd the middle of the lake,
And saw th' approaching land : now, wild with joy,
They row'd, they flew. When lo ! at once effus'd,
Sent by the angry demon of the isle,
A whirlwind rose : it lash'd the furious Lake
To tempest, overturn'd the boat, and sunk
The fair Levina to a wat'ry tomb.
Her sad companions, bending from a rock,
Thrice saw her head, and supplicating hands
Held up to heav'n, and heard the shriek of death :
Then over-head the parting billow closed,
And op'd no more. Her fate in mournful lays,
The Muse relates ; and sure each tender maid
For her shall heave the sympathetic sigh,
And happ'ly my Eumelia,1 (for her soul
Is pity's self,) as, void of household cares,
Her ev'ning walk she bends beside the Lake,
Which yet retains her name (<?), shall sadly drop
A tear, in mem'ry of the hapless maid,
And mourn with me the sorrows of the youth,
Whom from his mistress death did not divide.
Robb'd of the calm possession of his mind,
All night he wander'd by the sounding shore,
Long looking o'er the lake, and saw at times

1 That is, Magdalene Grieve. See Memoir, pp. 27, 28. — G.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 189

The dear, the dreary ghost of her he lovM ;
Till love and grief subdu'd his manly prime,
And brought his youth with sorrow to the grave.

I knew an aged swain, whose hoary head
Was bent with years, the village-chronicle,
Who much had seen, and from the former times
Much had received. He, hanging o'er the hearth
In winter evenings, to the gaping swains,
And children circling round the fire, would tell
Stories of old, and tales of other times.
Of Lomond and Levina he would talk ;
And how of old, in Britain's evil days,
When brothers against brothers drew the sword
Of civil rage, the hostile hand of war
Ravag'd the land, gave cities to the sword,
And all the country to devouring fire.
Then these fair forests and Elysian scenes,
In one great conflagration, flam'd to heav'n.
Barren and black, by swift degrees arose
A muirish fen ; and hence the lab'ring hind,
Digging for fuel, meets the mould'ring trunks
Of oaks, and branchy antlers of the deer.

Now sober Industry, illustrious Power !
Hath rais'd the peaceful cottage, calm abode
Of Innocence and Joy : now, sweating, guides
The shining ploughshare ; tames the stubborn soil ;
Leads the long drain along th' unfertile marsh ;
Bids the bleak hill with vernal verdure bloom,
The haunt of flocks : and clothes the barren heath
With waving harvests, and the golden grain.

Fair from his hand, behold the village rise,

i9o THE WORKS OF

In rural pride, 'mong intermingled trees !
Above whose aged tops, the joyful swains
At even-tide, descending from the hill,
With eye enamour'd, mark the many wreaths
Of pillar' d smoke, high-curling to the clouds.
The street resounds with Labour's various voice,
Who whistles at his work. Gay on the green,
Young blooming boys, and girls with golden hair,
Trip nimble-footed, wanton in their play,
The village hope. All in a rev'rend row,
Their grey-hair'd grandsires, sitting in the sun,
Before the gate, and leaning on the staff,
The well-remember'd stories of their youth
Recount, and shake their aged locks with joy.

How fair a prospect rises to the eye,
Where beauty vies in all her vernal forms,
For ever pleasant, and for ever new !
Swells th' exulting thought, expands the soul,
Drowning each ruder care : a blooming train
Of bright ideas rushes on the mind.
Imagination rouses at the scene,
And backward, thro' the gloom of ages past,
Beholds Arcadia, like a rural Queen,
Encircled with her swains and rosy nymphs,
The mazy dance conducting on the green.
Nor yield to old Arcadia's blissful vales
Thine, gentle Leven ! green on either hand
Thy meadows spread, unbroken of the plough,
With beauty all their own. Thy fields rejoice
With all the riches of the golden year.
Fat on the plain and mountain's sunny side,
Large droves of oxen, and the fleecy flocks
Feed undisturb'd, and fill the echoing air

MICHAEL BRUCE. 191

With music, grateful to the master's ear.
The traveler stops, and gazes round and round
O'er all the scenes, that animate his heart
With mirth and music Even the mendicant,
Bowbent with age, that on the old grey stone,
Sole sitting, suns him in the public way,
Feels his heart leap, and to himself he sings.

How beautiful around the Lake outspreads
Its wealth of waters, the surrounding vales
Renews, and holds a mirror to the sky,
Perpetual fed by many sister-streams,
Haunts of the angler ! First, the gulfy Po,
That thro* the quaking marsh and waving reeds
Creeps slow and silent on. The rapid Queech,
Whose foaming torrents o'er the broken steep
Burst down impetuous, with the placid wave
Of flow'ry Leven, for the canine pike
And silver eel renown'd. But chief thy stream,
O Gairoy i sweetly winding, claims the song.
First on thy banks the Doric reed I tun'd,
Stretch'd on the verdant grass ; while twilight meek,
Enrob'd in mist, slow-sailing thro* the air,
Silent and still, on ev'ry closed flow'r
Shed drops nectareous ; and around the fields
No noise was heard, save where the whisp'ring reeds
Wav'd to the breeze, or in the dusky air
The slow-wing*d crane mov'd heavily o'er the lee,
And shrilly clamour'd as he sought his nest
There would I sit, and tune some youthful lay,
Or watch the motion of the living fires,
That day and night their never-ceasing course
Wheel round th' eternal poles, and bend the knee
To Him the Maker of yon starry sky,

19 z THE WORKS OF

Omnipotent ! who, thron'd above all heav'ns,
Yet ever present through the peopl'd space
Of vast Creation's infinite extent,
Pours life, and bliss, and beauty, pours Himself,
His own essential goodness, o'er the minds
Of happy beings, thro' ten thousand worlds.

Nor shall the Muse forget thy friendly heart,

O Lelius (p} ! partner of my youthful hours ;

How often, rising from the bed of peace,

We would walk forth to meet the summer morn,

Inhaling health and harmony of mind ;

Philosophers and friends ; while science beam'd

With ray divine as lovely on our minds

As yonder orient sun, whose welcome light

Reveal'd the vernal landscape to the view.

Yet oft, unbending from more serious thought,

Much of the looser follies of mankind,

Hum'rous and gay, we'd talk, and much would laugh

While, ever and anon, their foibles vain

Imagination offer'd to our view.

Fronting where Gairny pours his silent urn
Into the Lake, an island lifts its head (^),
Grassy and wild, with ancient ruin heap'd
Of cells ; where from the noisy world retir'd
Of old, as same reports, Religion dwelt
Safe from the insults of the dark'ned crowd
That bow'd the knee to Odin ; and in times
Of ignorance, when Caledonia's sons
(Before the triple-crowned giant fell)
Exchang'd their simple faith for Rome's deceits.
Here Superstition for her cloister'd sons
A dwelling rear'd, with many an arched vault ;

MICHAEL BRUCE. 193

Where her pale vot'ries at the midnight-hour,
In many a mournful strain of melancholy,
Chanted their orisons to the cold moon.
It now resounds with the wild-shrieking gull,
The crested lapwing, and the clamorous mew.
The patient heron, and the bittern dull,
Deep-sounding in the base, with all the tribe
That by the water seek th' appointed meal.

From hence the shepherd in the fenced fold,
Tis said, has heard strange sounds, and music wild ;
Such as in Selma (r), by the burning oak
Of hero fallen, or of battle lost,
Warn'd Fingal's mighty son, from trembling chords
Of untouch'd harp, self-sounding in the night
Perhaps lh' afflicted Genius of the Lake,
That leaves the wat'ry grot, each night to mourn
The waste of time, his desolated isles
And temples in the dust : his plaintive voice
Is heard resounding thro' the dreary courts
Of high Lochleven Castle, famous once,
Th' abode of heroes of the Bruce's line (s) ;
Gothic the pile, and high the solid walls,
With warlike ramparts, and the strong defence
Of jutting battlements, an age's toil !
No more its arches echo to the noise
Of joy and festive mirth. No more the glance
Of blazing taper thro' its windows beams,
And quivers on the undulating wave :
But naked stand the melancholy walls,
Lash'd by the wintry tempests, cold and bleak,
That whistle mournful thro' the empty halls,
And piece-meal crumble down the tow'rs to dust
Perhaps in some lone, dreary, desert tower,

N

1 94 *HE WORKS OF

That time has spar'd, forth from the window looks,
Half hid in grass, the solitary fox (t) ;
While from above, the owl, musician dire !
Screams hideous, harsh, and grating to the ear.

Equal in age, and sharers of its fate,
A row of moss-grown trees around it stand.
Scarce here and there, upon their blasted tops,
A shrivell'd leaf distinguishes the year ;
Emblem of hoary age, the eve of life,
When man draws nigh his everlasting home,
Within a step of the devouring grave ; .
When all his views and tow'ring hopes are gone,
And ev'ry appetite before him dead.

Bright shines the morn, while in the ruddy east
The sun hangs hov'ring o'er the Atlantic wave.
Apart, on yonder green hill's sunny side,
Seren'd with all the music of the morn,
Attentive let me sit ; while from the rock,
The swains, laborious, roll the limestone huge,
Bounding elastic from th' indented grass,
At every fall it springs, and thund'ring shoots,
O'er rocks and precipices, to the plain.
And let the shepherd careful tend his flock
Far from the dang'rous steep ; nor, O ye swains !
Stray heedless of its rage. Behold the tears
Yon wretched widow o'er the mangled corpse
Of her dead husband pours, who, hapless man !
Cheerful and strong went forth at rising morn
To usual toil ; but, ere the evening hour,
His sad companions bare him lifeless home.
Urg'd from the hill's high top, with progress swift,
A weighty stone, resistless, rapid came,

MICHAEL BRUCE. 195

Seen by the fated wretch, who stood unmov'd,
Nor turn'd to fly, till flight had been in vain ;
When now arriv'd the instrument of death,
And fell'd him to the ground. The thirsty land
Drank up his blood : such was the will of Hcav'n.

How wide the landscape opens to the view !
Still as I mount, the less'ning hills decline,
Till high above them northern Grampius lifts
His hoary head, bending beneath a load
Of everlasting snow. O'er southern fields
I see the Cheviot hills, the ancient bounds
Of two contending kingdoms. There in fight
Brave Percy and the gallant Douglas bled,
The house of heroes, and the death of hosts !
\\ at ring the fertile fields, majestic Forth,
Full, deep, and wide, rolls placid to the sea,
With many a vessel trim and oared bark
In rich profusion cover'd, wafting o'er
The wealth and product of far distant lands.

But chief mine eye on the subjected vale
Of Leven pleas'd looks down ; while o'er the trees,
That shield the hamlet with the shade of years,
The tow'ring smoke of early fire ascends,
And the shrill cock proclaims th' advanced morn.

How blest the man ! who, in these peaceful j>l
Ploughs his paternal field ; far from the noise,
The care, and bustle of a busy world.1
All in the sacred, sweet, sequestered vale
Of Solitude, the secret primrose-path
Of rural life, he dwells ; and with him dwells

1 Cf. Horace, Ode a.-G

196 THE WORKS OF

Peace and Content, twins of the sylvan shade,

And all the Graces of the golden age.

Such is Agricola, the wise, the good,

By nature formed for the calm retreat,

The silent path of life. Learn'd, but not fraught

With self-importance, as the starched fool ;

Who challenges respect by solemn face,

By studied accent, and high-sounding phrase.

Enamour'd of the shade, but not morose.

Politeness, rais'd in courts by frigid rules,

With him spontaneous grows. Not books alone,

But man his study, and the better part ;

To tread the ways of virtue, and to act

The various scenes of life with God's applause.

Deep in the bottom of the flow'ry vale,

With blooming sallows1 and the leafy twine

Of verdant alders fenc'd, his dwelling stands

Complete in rural elegance. The door,

By which the poor or pilgrim never pass'd,

Still open, speaks the master's bounteous heart.

There, O how sweet ! amid the fragrant shrubs

At ev'ning cool to sit ; while, on their boughs,

The nested songsters twitter o'er their young,

And the hoarse low of folded cattle breaks

The silence, wafted o'er the sleeping Lake,

Whose waters glow beneath the purple tinge

Of western cloud ; while converse sweet deceives

The stealing foot of time. Or where the ground,

Mounded irregular, points out the graves

Of our forefathers, and the hallow'd fane,

Where swains assembling worship, let us walk,

In softly-soothing melancholy thought,

As Night's seraphic bard, immortal Young,

1 Query — 'willows'? — G.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 197

( )r sweet-complaining Gray ; there see the goal
Of human life, where drooping, faint, and tir'd,
Oft miss'd the prize, — the weary racer rests.

Thus sung the youth, amid unfertile wilds
And nameless deserts, unpoetic ground :
Far from his friends he stray'd, recording thus
The dear remembrance of his native fields,
To cheer the tedious night ; while slow disease
Prey'd on his pining vitals, and the blasts
Of dark December shook his humble cot*

SIR JAMES THE ROSS.

AN ANCIENT HISTORICAL BALLAD.

OF all the Scottish northern chiefs,

Of his high warlike name,
The bravest was Sir James the Ross,

A knight of meikle fame.

His growth was as the tufted fir
That crowns the mountain's brow,

And waving o'er his shoulders broad
His locks of yellow flew.

The chieftan of the brave clan Ross,
A firm undaunted band ;
e hundred warriors drew the sword
Beneath his high command.

1 See Memoir, pp. 33, 34 «y. : the 'unfertile un'lds' above, are the same with
the 'wild' of the Elegy in Spring, which is another confirmation that it was com
posed at Forrest Mill, not at Kinnewwood See Memoir, p. 38.— G.

198 THE WORKS OF

In bloody fight thrice had he stood

Against the English keen,
'Ere two-and-twenty op'ning springs

This blooming youth had seen.

The fair Matilda dear he lov'd,

A maid of beauty rair,
Even Marg'ret on the Scottish throne

Was never half so fair.

Lang had he woo'd, lang she refus'd,
With seeming scorn and pride ;

Yet aft her eyes confess'd the love
Her fearful words deny'd.

At last she bless'd his well-try'd faith,

Allow'd his tender claim ;
She vow'd to him her virgin heart,

And own'd an equal flame.

Her father, Buchan's cruel lord,
Their passion disapprov'd,

And bade her wed Sir John the Graham,
And leave the youth she lov'd.

Ae night they met as they were wont,

Deep in a shady wood,
Where on the bank beside the burn,

A blooming saugh-tree stood.

Conceal'd among the underwood

The crafty Donald lay,
The brother of Sir John the Graham,

To hear what they would say.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 199

When thus the maid began : — My sire

Your passion disapproves,
And bids roe wed Sir John the Graham,

So here must end our loves I

My father's will must be obey'd,

Nought boots me to withstand ;
Some fairer maid in beauty's bloom

Shall bless thce with her hand.

Matilda soon shall be forgot,

And from thy mind defac'd ;
But may that happiness be thine

Which I can never taste.

What do I heart Is this thy vow!

Sir James the Ross repl/d,
And will Matilda wed the Graham,

Tho' sworn to be my bride I

His sword shall sooner pierce my heart

Than reave me of thy charms !
Then clasp'd her to his beating breast,

Fast lock'd within her arms.

^

I spake to try thy love, she said,

I'll ne'er wed man but thee ;
The grave shall be ray bridal bed,

'Ere Graham my husband be.

Take then, dear youth, this faithful kiss

In witness of my troth,
And every plague become my lot,

That day I break my oath.

200 THE WORKS OF

They parted thus ; the sun was set,

Up hasty Donald flies,
And turn thee, turn thee, beardless youth,

He loud insulting cries.

Soon turn'd about the fearless chief,
And soon his sword he drew,

For Donald's blade before his breast
Had pierc'd his tartans through.

This for my brother's slighted love,
His wrongs sit on my arm :

Three paces back the youth retir'd,
And sav'd himself frae harm.

Returning swift, his hand he rear'd
Frae Donald's head above,

And thro' the brains and crashing bones
His sharp edg'd weapon drove.

He stagg'ring reel'd, then tumbled down,
A lump of breathless clay ;

So fall my foes ! quoth valiant Ross,
And stately strode away.

Thro' the green wood he quickly hy'd

Unto Lord Buchan's hall ;
And at Matilda's window stood,

And thus began to call :

Art thou asleep, Matilda dear !

Awake, my love, awake ;
Thy luckless lover calls on thee,

A long farewel to take.

MICHAEL BRUCE. aoi

For I have slain fierce Donald Graham,

His blood is on my sword ;
And distant arc my faithful men,

Nor can assist their lord.

To Skye I'll now direct my way,

Where my two brothers bide,
And raise the valiant of the Isles

To combat on my side.

O, do not so ! the maid replies,

With me till morning stay,
For dark and dreary is the night,

And dangerous is the way :

All night I'll watch you in the park ;

My faithful page I'll send
To run and raise the Ross's clan,

Their master to defend

Beneath a bush he laid him down,

And wrapt him in his plaid,
While trembling for her lover's fate,

At distance stood the maid

Swift ran the page o'er hill and daje,

Till in a lowly glen
He met the furious Sir John Graham,

With twenty of his men.

Where go'st thou, little page ? he said ;

So late who did thee send ?
I go to raise the Ross's clan

Their master to defend.

so* THE WORKS OF

For he has slain fierce Donald Graham,

His blood is on his sword,
And far, far distant are his men

That should assist their lord.

' And has he slain my brother dear 1

The furious Graham replies ;
Dishonour blast my name ! but he
By me 'ere morning dies !

Tell me, where is Sir James the Ross ?

I will thee well reward.
He sleeps into Lord Buchan's park ;

Matilda is his guard.

They spurr'd their steeds in furious mood,

And scour'd along the lea,
They reach'd Lord Buchan's lofty tow'rs

By dawning of the day.

Matilda stood without the gate,
To whom thus Graham did say ;

Saw ye Sir James the Ross last night,
Or did he pass this way 1

Last day at noon, Matilda said,
Sir James the Ross pass'd by,

He furious prick'd his sweaty steed,
And onward fast did hy.

By this he is at Edinburgh cross,
If horse and man hold good. —

Your page then ly'd, who said he was
Now sleeping in the wood.

MICHAEL BRUCE. aoj

She wrung her hands and tore her hair.

Brave Ross ! thou art betra/d,
And ruin'd by those very means

From whence I hop'd thine aid

By this the valiant knight awak'd,

The virgin's shriek he heard ;
And up he rose and drew his sword,

When the fierce band appearU

Your sword last night my brother slew,

> blood yet dims its shine,
But 'ere the setting of the sun
Your blood shall reek on mine.

You word it well, the chief return'd,

But deeds approve the man ;
Set by your men, and hand to hand

We'll try what valour can.

Oft boasting hides a coward's heart,1

My weighty sword you fear,
Which shone in front of Floden field,

When you kept in the rear.

With dauntless step he forward strode,

And dar'd him to the fight ;
But Graham gave back and fear'd his arm,

For well he knew its might

Four of his men, the bravest four,

Sunk down beneath his sword ;
But still he scorn'd the poor revenge,

And sought their haughty lord.

1 Audendo magma teeitur timor.-Lucan.

204 THE WORKS OF

Behind him basely came the Graham,
And pierc'd him in the side,

Out spouting came the purple tide,
And all his tartans dy'd.

But yet his sword quat not the grip,
Nor dropt he to the ground,

Till thro' his en'my's heart his steel
Had forc'd a mortal wound.

Graham like a tree with wind o'erthrown,
Fell breathless on the clay,

And down beside him sunk the Ross,
And faint and dying lay.

The sad Matilda saw him fall,

0 spare his life ! she cried,

Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life,
Let her not be deny'd 1

Her well known voice the hero heard,
He rais'd his half-clos'd eyes,

And fix'd them on the weeping maid,
And weakly thus replies :

In vain Matilda begs the life

By death's arrest deny'd ;
My race is run — 'Adieu, my love !

Then clos'd his eyes and dy'd.

The sword yet warm, from his left side

With frantic hand she drew ;
I come, Sir James the Ross, she cried,

1 come to follow you.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 105

She lean'd the hilt against the ground,

And bar'd her snowy breast ;
Then fell upon her lover's (ace,

And sunk to endless rest (*/).'

ODE : TO A FOUNT

O FOUNTAIN of the wood ! whose glassy wave
Slow-welling from the rock of years,
Holds to heav'n a mirror blue,
And bright as Anna's eye,

With whom I've sported on the margin green :
My hand with leaves, with lilies white,
Gaily deck'd her golden hair,
Young Naiad of the vale.

Fount of my native wood ! thy murmurs greet
My ear, like poets heavenly strain :
Fancy pictures in a dream
The golden days of youth.

O state of innocence ! O paradise !
In Hope's gay garden, Fancy views
Golden blossoms, golden fruits,
And Eden ever green.

Where now, ye dear companions of my youth !
Ye brothers of my bosom ! where
Do ye tread the walks of life,

Ifi scatter'd o'er the world!

1 See Note « for this Ballad as ' /m/rvcW by Logan. -T,

206 THE WORKS OF

Thus winged larks forsake their native nest,
The merry minstrels of the morn ;
Now to heav'n they mount away,
And meet again no more.

All things decay; the forest like the leaf;
Great kingdoms fall ; the peopled globe,
Planet-struck, shall pass away ;
Heav'ns with their hosts expire :

But Hope's fair visions, and the beams of Joy,
Shall cheer my bosom : I will sing
Nature's beauty, Nature's birth,
And heroes on the lyre.

Ye Naiads ! blue-eyed sisters of the wood ! l
Who by old oak, or storied stream,
Nightly tread your mystic ma.ze,
And charm the wand'ring Moon,

Beheld by poet's eye ; inspire my dreams

With visions, like the landscapes fair

Of heav'n's bliss, to dying saints

By guardian angels drawn.

Fount of the forest ! in thy poet's lays

Thy waves shall flow : this wreath of flow'rs,
Gather'd by my Anna's hand,
I ask to bind my brow.

1 Cf. ' Lochleven,' page 180, line 13—

' Beheld the blue-eyed Sisters of the stream.'

This, together with the evident allusion in stanza 3d to the ' Fount ' called ' Scot
land Well' incidentally confirms the Bruce authorship of this Ode. See Memoir,
p. 170. — G.

MICHAEL BRUCE. ao;

DANISH ODE.

THE great, the glorious deed is done !
The foe is fled ! the field is won !
Prepare the feast, the heroes call ;
Let joy, let triumph fill the hall !

The raven claps ' his sable wings ;
The Bard his chosen timbrel brings ;
Six virgins round, a select choir,
Sing to the music of his lyre.

With mighty ale the goblet crown ;
With mighty ale your sorrows drown ;
To-day, to mirth and joy we yield ;
To-morrow, face the bloody field.

From danger's front, at battle's eve,
Sweet comes the banquet to the brave ;
Joy shines with genial beam on all,
The joy that dwells in Odin's hall.

The song bursts living from the lyre,
Like dreams that guardian ghosts inspire ;
When mimic shrieks the heroes hear,
And whirl the visionary spear.

Music's the med'cine of the mind ;
The cloud of Care give to the wind ;
Be ev'ry brow with garlands bound,
And let the cup of Joy go round.

1 Originally misprinted, a*^ so continued, ' clasp*.'— C.

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The cloud comes o'er the beam of light ;
We're guests that tarry but a night :
In the dark house, together press'd,
The princes and the people rest.

Send round the shell,1 the feast prolong,
And send away the night in song ;
Be blest below, as those above
With Odin's and the friends they love.

DANISH ODE.

IN deeds of arms, our fathers rise,
Illustrious in their offspring's eyes :
They fearless rush'd through Ocean's storms,
And dar'd grim Death in all its forms ;
Each youth assum'd the sword and shield,
And grew a hero in the field.

Shall we degenerate from our race,
Inglorious, in the mountain chase ?
Arm, arm in fallen Hubba's right ;
Place your forefathers in your sight ;
To fame, to glory fight your way,
And teach the nations to obey.

Assume the oars, unbind the sails ;
Send, Odin ! send propitious gales.
At Loda's stone, we will adore
Thy name with songs, upon the shore ;
And, full of thee, undaunted dare
The foe, and dart the bolts of war.

1 The ancient Danes and Scots drank in shells. ' To rejoice in the shell,' is a
phrase used in Ossian for drinking freely. — M'K.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 109

No feast of shells, no dance by night,
Are glorious Odin's dear delight :
He, king of men, his armies led,
Where heroes strove, where battles bled ;
Now reigns above the morning-star,
The god of thunder and of war.

Bless'd who in battle bravely (all :
They mount on wings to Odin's Hall ;
To Music's sound, in cups of gold,
They drink new wine with chiefs of old ;
The song of bards records their name,
And future times shall speak their fame.

Hark ! Odin thunders ! haste on board ;
Illustrious Canute !' give the word.
On wings of wind we pass the seas,
To conquer realms, if Odin please :
With Odin's spirit in our soul,
We'll gain the globe from pole to pole.

TO PAOI.I.

4 Paoli's father was one of the patriots who effected their escape from Corsica
when the French reduced it to obedience. He retired to Naples, and brought up
this, his youngest MM, in the Neapolitan service. The •Corsicans heard of young
Paoli's abilities, and solicited him to come over to his native country and take the
command. He found all things in confusion : he formed a democratical govern
ment, of which he was chosen chief, and took such measures both for repressing
abuses and moulding the rising generation, that if France had not interfered.
Corsica might, at this day, have been as free and flourishing and happy a com
monwealth as any of the Grecian States in the days of their prosper
desperate struggle was made against the French usurpation. They offered tn
confirm Paoli in the supreme government, only on condition that he would hold

1 Canute, sumamed the Great, King of Denmark, and upon the death of
Edmund, proclaimed King of England, A.D. ioi7.-M K
O

2io THE WORKS OF

it under their government. This he refused. They then set a price upon his
head. During two campaigns he kept them at bay ; they overpowered him at
length ; he was driven to the shore, and having escaped on shipboard, took refuge
in England.' — SOUTHEY'S Life of Nelson. — M'K.

WHAT man, what hero shall the Muses sing,
On classic lyre or Caledonian string 1 (v)

Whose name shall fill th' immortal page 1
Who, fir'd from heav'n with energy divine,
In sun-bright glory bids his actions shine
First in the annals of the age ?

Ceas'd are the golden times of yore ;

The age of heroes is no more ;
Rare, in these latter times, arise to fame
The poet's strain inspir'd, or hero's heav'nly flame.

What star arising in the southern sky,
New to the heav'ns, attracting Europe's eye,

With beams unborrow'd shines afar?
Who comes, with thousands marching in his rear,
Shining in arms, shaking his bloody spear,
Like the red comet, sign of war ?

Paoli ! sent of Heav'n, to save

A rising nation of the brave ;
Whose firm right hand his angels arm, to bear
A shield before his host, and dart the bolts of war.

He comes ! he comes ! the saviour of the land !
His drawn sword flames in his uplifted hand,

Enthusiast in his country's cause ;
Whose firm resolve obeys a nation's call,
To rise deliverer, or a martyr fall

To Liberty, to dying laws.
Ye sons of Freedom ! sing his praise ;
Ye poets ! bind his brows with bays ;

MICHAEL BRUCE. an

Ye scepter'd ^ladows ! cast your honours clown,
And bow before the head that never wore a crown.

Who to the hero can the palm refuse?
: Alexander still the world subdues,
The heir of everlasting praise.
Hut when the hero's flame, the patriot's light ;
When virtues human and divine unite ;

When olives twine among the bays,
And, mutual, both Minerva's shine ;
A constellation so divine,
A wond'ring world behold, admire, and love.
And his best image here, thf Almighty marks above.

As the lone shepherd hides him in the rocks,
When high heav'n thunders ; as the tim'rous flocks

From the descending torrent flee :
So flies a world of slaves at War's alarms,
When Zeal on flame, and Liberty in arms,

Leads on the fearless and the free,
Resistless ; as the torrent flood,
Horn'd like the moon, uproots the wood,
Sweeps flocks, and herds, and harvests from their base,1
And moves th' eternal hills from their appointed place.

Ix>ng hast thou labour'd in the glorious strife,
O land of Liberty ! profuse of life,
And prodigal of priceless blood.

1 ' Red, from the hills, innumerable streams
Tumultuous roar ; and, high above its banks,
The river left : before whose rushing tide
Herds, flocks, and harvests, cottages and swains.
Roll mingled do»

THOMSON'S A*t*mm.— M'K.

312 THE WORKS OF

Where heroes bought with blood the martyr's crown,

A race arose, heirs of their high renown,

Who dar'd their fate thro' fire and flood :
And Gaffori1 the great arose,
Whose words of pow'r, disarm'd his foes ;

And where the filial image smil'd afar,

The sire turned not aside the thunders of the war.

O Liberty ! to man a guardian giv'n,

Thou best and brightest attribute of Heav'n !

From whom descending, thee we sing.
By nature wild, or by the arts refin'd,
We feel thy pow'r essential to our mind ;
Each son of Freedom is a king.

Thy praise the happy world proclaim,

And Britain worships at thy name,
Thou guardian angel of Britannia's isle !
And God and man rejoice in thy immortal smile !

Island of beauty ! lift thy head on high ;
Sing a new song of triumph to the sky !
The day of thy deliv'rance springs !

1 ' Gaffori was a hero worthy of old times. His eloquence was long remembered
with admiration. A band of assassins was once advancing against him. He
heard of their approach, went out to meet them, and with a serene dignity which
overawed them, requested them to hear him. He then spoke to them so forcibly
of the distresses of their country, her intolerable wrongs, and the hopes and views
of their brethren in arms, that the very men who had been hired to murder him
fell at his feet, implored his forgiveness, and joined his banners. While he was
besieging the Genoese in Corte, a part of the garrison perceiving the nurse with
his eldest son, then an infant in arms, straying at a little distance from the camp,
suddenly sallied, and seized them. The use they made of their persons was in
conformity to their usual execrable conduct. When Gaffori advanced to batter
the walls, they held up the child directly over that part of the wall at which the
guns were pointed. The Corsicans stopt ; but Gaffori stood at their head, and
ordered them to continue the fire. Providentially, the child escaped, and lived to
relate, with becoming feeling, a fact so honourable to his father.' — SOUTHEY'S
Life of Nelson.— M'K.

MICHAEL BRUCE.

The day of vengeance to thy ancient foe.
Thy sons shall lay the proud oppressor low, (IP)
And break the head of tyrant kings.

Paoli ! mighty man of war !

All bright in arms, thy conqu'ring car
Ascend ; thy people from the foe redeem,
Thou delegate of Heav*n, and son of the Supreme !

Ruled by th' eternal laws, supreme o'er all,
Kingdoms, like kings, successive rise and (all.

When Cassar conquered half the earth,
And spread his eagles in Britannia's sun,
Did Caesar dream the savage huts he won
Should give a far-famed kingdom birth ?

That here should Roman freedom Might ;

The western Muses wing their flight ;
The Arts, the Graces find their fav'rite home ;
Our armies awe the globe, and Britain rival Rome ?

Thus, if th' Almighty say, * Let Freedom be,'

Thou, Corsica ! thy golden age shalt see.
Rejoice with songs, rejoice with smiles ;

Worlds yet unfound, and ages yet unborn,

Shall hail a new Britannia in her morn,

The Queen of arts, the Queen of isles :
The Arts, the beauteous train of Peace,
Shall rise and rival Rome and Greece ;

A Newton Nature's book unfold sublime ;

A Milton sing to heav'n, and charm the ear of Time :

2i4 THE WORKS OF

THE EAGLE, CROW, AND SHEPHERD.

A FABLE.1

BENEATH the horror of a rock,
A shepherd careless fed his flock.
Souse from its top an eagle came,
And seiz'd upon a sporting lamb ;
Its tender sides his talons tear,
And bear it bleating thro' the air.

This was discover'd by a crow,
Who hopp'd upon the plain below.
' You ram,' says he, 'becomes my prey ;'
And, mounting, hastens to the fray,
Lights on his back — when lo, ill-luck !
He in the fleece entangled stuck ;
He spreads his wings, but can't get free,
Struggling in vain for liberty.

The shepherd soon the captive spies,
And soon he seizes on the prize.
His children curious croud around,
And ask what strange fowl he has found 1
1 My sons,' said he, ' warn'd by this wretch,
Attempt no deed above your reach :
An eagle not an hour ago,
He's now content to be a crow.'

1 See Memoir, p. 19. — G.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 115

MM MUSIAD : A MINOR EPIC POEM.

IN THE MANNB* OF ttOMEB. A riAOMENT.

ncient times, ere traps were fram'd,
Or cats in Britain's isle were known ;
A mouse, for pow'r and valour fam'd,
Possess'd in peace the regal throne.

A farmer's house he nightly stornVd,
(In vain were bolts, in vain were keys ;)

The milk's fair surface he deform'd,

And digg'd entrenchments in the cheese.

In vain the farmer watch'd by night,
In vain he spread the poison'd bacon ;

The mouse was wise as well as wight,
Nor could by force or fraud be taken.

His subjects follow'd where he led,
And dealt destruction all around ;

His people, shepherd-like, he fed ;
Such mice are rarely to be found !

But evil fortune had decreed,
(The foe of mice as well as men,)

The royal mouse at last should bleed,
Should fall — ne'er to arise again.

Upon a night, as authors say,
A luckless scent our hero drew,

Upon forbidden ground to stray,
And pass a narrow cranny through.

ai6 THE WORKS OF

That night a feast the farmer made,
And joy unbounded fill'd the house ;

The fragments in the pantry spread
Afforded bus'ness to the mouse.

He ate his fill, and back again
Return'd ; but access was deny'd.

He search'd each corner, but in vain ;
He found it close on every side.

Let none our hero's fears deride ;

He roar'd (ten mice of modern days,
As mice are dwindPd and decay'd,

So great a voice could scarcely raise.)

Rous'd at the voice, the farmer ran,
And seiz'd upon his hapless prey.

With entreaties the mouse began,
And pray'rs, his anger to allay.

' O spare my life,' he trembling cries ;

' My subjects will a ransom give,
Large as thy wishes can devise,

Soon as it shall be heard I live.'

' No, wretch !' the farmer says in wrath,
'Thou dy'st; no ransom I'll receive.'

' My subjects will revenge my death,'
He said ; 'this dying charge I leave.'

The farmer lifts his armed hand,

And on the mouse inflicts an wound.

What mouse could such a blow withstand ?
He fell, and dying bit the ground.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 117

Thus Lambris fell, who flourish'd long,

(I half forgot to tell his name ;)
But his renown lives in the song,

And future times shall speak his fame.

A mouse, who walk'd about at large
In safety, heard his mournful cries ;

He heard him give his dying charge,
And to the rest he frantic flies.

Thrice he essay'd to speak, and thrice
Tears, such as mice may shed, fell down.

* Revenge your monarch's death,' he cries,
His voice half-stifl'd with a groan.

But having re-assum'd his senses,
And reason, such as mice may have,

He told out all the circumstances
With many a strain and broken heave.

Chill'd with sad grief, th' assembly heard ;

Each dropp'd a tear, and bow'd the head :
But symptoms soon of rage appeared,

And vengeance for their royal dead!

Long sat they mute : at last up rose
The great Hypenor, blameless sage !

A hero born to many woes ;

His head was silver*d o'er with age.

His bulk so large, his joints so strong,
Though worn with grief, and past his prime,

Few rats could equal him, 'tis sung,
As rats are in these dregs of time.

218 THE WORKS OF

Two sons, in battle brave, he had,
Sprung from fair Lalage's embrace ;

Short time they grac'd his nuptial bed,
By dogs destroy'd in cruel chase.

Their timeless fate the mother wail'd,
And pined with heart-corroding grief :

O'er every comfort it prevail'd,

Till death advancing brought relief.

Now he's the last of all his race,
A prey to wo : he inly pin'd ;

Grief pictur'd sat upon his face ;
Upon his breast his head reclin'd.

And, ' O my fellow-mice !' he said,
* These eyes ne'er saw a day so dire,

Save when my gallant children bled.
O wretched sons ! O wretched sire !

* But now a gen'ral cause demands

Our grief, and claims our tears alone ;
Our monarch, slain by wicked hands,
No issue left to fill the throne.

* Yet, tho' by hostile man much wrong'd,

My counsel is, from arms forbear,
That so your days may be prolong'd ;
For man is Heav'n's peculiar care.'

MICHAEL BRUCE. 119

ANACREONTIC: TO A WASP.

THB FOLLOWING IS A LUDICROCH IMITATION OF THE CM' At. ANACREONTICS: THR
si-lRIT OF COMPOSING WHICH WAS RACING, A FEW YRARS AGO, AMONG ALL THR
SWKRT SING MS OP GREAT BRH

WINCED wand'rer of the sky !
Inhabitant of heav'n high !
Dreadful with thy dragon tail,
Hydra-head, and coat of mail !
Why dost thou my peace molest ?
Why dost thou disturb my t
When in May the meads are seen,
Sweet enamel ! white and green ;
And the gardens, and the bow'rs,
And the forests, and the flow'rs,
Don their robes of curious dye,
Fine confusion to the eye !
Did I - - chase thee in thy flight \
Did I - - put thee in a fright ?

Did I spoil thy treasure hid f

Never — never — never — did.
Kmious nothing ! pray beware :
Tempt mine anger, if you dare.
Trust not in thy strength of wing ;
Trust not in thy length of sting.
Heav'n nor earth shall thee defend ;
I thy buzzing soon will end.

e my counsel, while you may ;
Devil take you, if you stay.
W i 1 1 — thou — dare — my — face — to — woun ( 1 .'
Thus, I fell thee to the ground.
Down amongst the dead men, now
Thou shalt forget thou ere wast thou.

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Anacreontic Bards beneath,
Thus shall wail thee after death.

CHORUS OF ELYSIAN BARDS.

' A Wasp, for a wonder,

To paradise under

Descends : See ! he wanders

By Styx's meanders !

Behold, how he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's snows (x)

He sweats, in a trice,

In the regions of ice !

Lo ! he cools, by God's ire,

Amidst brimstone and fire !

He goes to our king,

And he shows him his sting.

(God Pluto loves satire,

As women love attire ; )

Our king sets him free,

Like fam'd Euridice.

Thus a wasp could prevail

O'er the Devil and hell,
A conquest both hard and laborious !

Tho' hell had fast bound him,

And the Devil did confound him,
Yet his sting and his wing were victorious.' (y)

ALEXIS.

A PASTORAL.

UPON a bank with cowslips cover'd o'er,
Where Leven's waters break against the shore ;

MICHAEL BRUCE.

What time the village sires in circles talk.

And youths and maidens take their evening walk ;

Among the yellow broom Alexis lay.

And view'd the l*Muties of the setting day.

Full well you might observe some inward smart,
Some secret grief hung heavy at his heart.
While round the field his sportive lambkins play'd,
He rais'd his plaintive voice, and thus he said :

Begin, my pipe ! a softly mournful strain.
The jwrting sun shines yellow on the plain ;
The balmy west-wind breathes along the ground ;
Their evening sweets the flow'rs dispense around ;
The flocks stray bleating o'er the mountain's brow,
And from the plain the answ'ring cattle low ;
MI the feather'd tribes on every tree,
And all things feel the joys of love, but me.

Begin, my pipe ! begin the mournful strain.
Eumelia meets my kindness with disdain.1
( )ft ha\e I try'd her stubborn heart to move.
And in her icy bosom kindle love :
Hut all in vain — ere I my love declar'd,
With other youths her company I shar*d ;
Hut now she shuns me hopeless and forlorn,
And pays my constant passion with her scorn.

Begin, my pipe ! the sadly-soothing strain,
And bring the days .of innocence again.
Well I remember, in the sunny scene
We ran. we play'd together on the green.

1 See Memoir, p. a8.— C.

22Z THE WORKS OF

Fair in our youth, and wanton in our play,
We toy'd, we sported the long summer's day.
For her I spoil'd the gardens of the Spring,
And taught the goldfinch on her hand to sing.
We sat and sung beneath the lover's tree ;
One was her look, and it was fix'd on me.

Begin, my pipe ! a melancholy strain.
A holiday was kept on yonder plain ;
The feast was spread upon the flow'ry mead,
And skilful Thyrsis tun'd his vocal reed ;
Each for the dance selects the nymph he loves,
And every nymph with smiles her swain approves :
The setting sun beheld their mirthful glee,
And left all happy in their love, but me.

Begin, my pipe ! a softly mournful strain.
O cruel nymph ! O most unhappy swain !
To climb the steepy rock's tremendous height,
And crop its herbage is the goat's delight ;
The flowery thyme delights the humming bees,
And blooming wilds the bleating lambkins please ;
Daphnis courts Chloe under every tree :
Eumelia ! you alone have joys for me 1

Now cease, my pipe ! now cease the mournful strain.
Lo, yonder comes Eumelia o'er the plain !
Till she approach, I'll lurk behind the shade,
Then try with all my art the stubborn maid :
Though to her lover cruel and unkind,
Yet time may change the purpose of her mind.
But vain these pleasing hopes ! already see,
She hath observ'd, and now she flies from me !

MICHAEL BRUCE. 113

Then cease, my pipe ! the unavailing strain.
Apollo aids, the Nine inspire in vain :
You, « ruel maid ! refuse to lend an ear ;
No more I sing, since you disdain to hear.
This pipe Amyntas gave, on whit h he play'd :
4 Be thou its second lord,' the dying shepherd said.
No more I play, now silent let it be ;

pipe, nor song, can e'er give joy to me.

DAMON, MENALCAS, AND M F.I.I BCZUS.

AN ECLOGUE,

DAMON.

MILD from the shower, the morning's rosy light
Unfolds the beauteous season to the sight :
The landscape rises verdant on the view ;
The little hills uplift their heads in dew ;
The sunny stream rejoices in the vale ;
The woods with songs approaching summer hail :
The boy comes forth among the flow'rs to play ;

ir hair glitters in the yellow ray.
Shepherds, begin the song ! while, o'er the mead,
Your flocks at will on dewy pastures feed.
Behold fair nature, and begin the song ;
The songs of nature to the swain belong,
Who equals Cona's bard in sylvan strains, (z)
To him his harp an equal prize remains ;
His harp, which sounds on all its sacred strings
The loves of hunters, and the wars of kings.

MENALCAS.

Now fleecy clouds in clearer skies are seen ;
The air is genial, and the earth is green :

224 THE WORKS OF

O'er hill and dale the flow'rs spontaneous spring,
And blackbirds singing now invite to sing.

MELIBCEUS.

Now milky show'rs rejoice the springing grain ;
New-opening pea-blooms purple all the plain ;
The hedges blossom white on every hand ;
Already harvest seems to clothe the land.

MENALCAS.

White o'er the hill my snowy sheep appear,
Each with her lamb ; their shepherd's name they bear.
I love to lead them where the daisies spring,
And on the sunny hill to sit and sing.

MELIBCEUS.

My fields are green with clover and with corn ;
My flocks the hills, and herds the vales adorn.
I teach the stream, I teach the vocal shore,
And woods to echo that ' I want no more.'

MENALCAS.

To me the bees their annual nectar yield ;
Peace cheers my hut, and plenty clothes my field.
I fear no loss : I give to Ocean's wind
All care away, a monarch in my mind.

MELIBCEUS.

My mind is cheerful as the linnet's lays ;
Heav'n daily hears a shepherd's simple praise.
What time I shear my flock, I send a fleece
To aged Mopsa, and her orphan niece.

MICHAEL BRV( a,5

MENALCAS.

I~ivinia, come ! here primroses upspring ;
Here choirs of linnets, here yourself may sing ;
Here meadows worthy of thy foot appear :
O come, Lavinia ! let us wander here !

MELIBCEUS.

Rosella, come ! here flow'rs the heath adorn ;
Here ruddy roses open on the thorn ;
Here willows by the brook a shadow give ;
O here, Rosella ! let us love to live !

MENALCAS.

I-ivinia's fairer than the flow'rs of May,
Or Autumn apples ruddy in the ray :
For her my flow'rs are in a garland wove,
And all my apples ripen for my love.

MELIBCEUS.

Prince of the wood, the oak majestic tow'rs ;
The lily of the vale is queen of flow'rs :
Above the maids Rosella's charms prevail,
As oaks in woods, and lilies in the vale !

MENALCAS.

Resound, ye rocks ! ye little hills ! rejoice !
Assenting woods ! to Heaven uplift your voice !
Let Spring and Summer enter hand in hand ;
I*avinia comes, the glory of our Land !

MELIBCEUS.

Whene'er my love appears upon the plain,
To her the wond'ring shepherds tune the strain :

226 THE WORKS OF

' Who comes in beauty like the vernal morn,

When yellow robes of light all heaven and earth adorn.

MENALCAS.

Rosella's mine, by all the Pow'rs above ;
Each star in heav'n is witness to our love.
Among the lilies she abides all day ;
Herself as lovely, and as sweet as they.

MELIBCEUS.

By Tweed Lavinia feeds her fleecy care,
And in the sunshine combs her yellow hair.
Be thine the peace of Heav'n, unknown to kings,
And o'er thee angels spread their guardian wings !

MENALCAS.

I followed Nature, and was fond of praise ;
Thrice noble Varo has approved my lays ;
If he approves, superior to my peers,
I join th' immortal choir, and sing to other years.

MELIBCEUS.

My mistress is my Muse : the banks of Tyne
Resound with. Nature's music, and with mine ';
Helen the fair, the beauty of our green,
To me adjudg'd the prize when chosen queen.

DAMON.

Now cease your songs : the flocks to shelter fly,
And the high sun has gain'd the middle sky.
To both alike the poet's bays belong,
Chiefs of the choir, and masters of the song.
Thus let your pipes contend, with rival strife,
To sing the praises of the pastoral life :

MICHAEL BRUCE. 1x7

Sing scenes with Nature's beauties fiVd ;

Where poets dream'd, where prophets lay inspir'il.
I'.\ CM Caledonian queens have trod the meads,
And scepter'd kings assum'd the shepherd's weeds :
Th' angelic choirs, that guard the throne of God,

• sat with shepherds on the humble sod.
With us renew'd the golden times remain,
And long-lost innocence is tend again.

PH ILOCLES :'

AN ELEGY, ON THE DEATH Of MR WILLIAM DRYBURCH.

XV \IIIM;, I sit on Leven's sandy shore,
And sadly tune the reed to sounds of woe ;

Once more I call Melpomene ! once more
Spontaneous teach the weeping verse to flow !

The weeping verse shall flow in friendship's name,
XX'hirh friendship asks, and friendship fain would pay ;

The weeping verse, which worth and genius claim.
Begin then, Muse ! begin thy mournful lay.

Aided by thee, I'll twine a rustic wreath

Of fairest flow'rs, to deck the grass-grown grave

Of Philocles, cold in the bed of death,

And mourn the gentle youth I could not save.

XVhere lordly Forth divides the fertile plains,
XX'ith ample sweep, a sea from side to side,

A rocky bound his raging course restrains,
For ever lashed by the resounding tide.

1 See Memoir, pp. 17, 24, 36.— G.

228 THE WORKS OF

There stands his tomb upon the sea-beat shore,1
Afar discerned by the rough sailor's eye,

Who, passing, weeps, and stops the sounding oar,
And points where piety and virtue lie.

Like the gay palm on Rabbah's fair domains,
Or cedar shadowing Carmel's flowery side ;

Or, like the upright ash on Britain's plains,

Which waves its stately arms in youthful pride :

So flourished Philocles : and as the hand

Of ruthless woodman lays their honours low,2

He fell in youth's fair bloom by fate's command.
Twas fate that struck, 'tis ours to mourn the blow.

Alas ! we fondly thought that Heaven designed
His bright example mankind to improve :

All they should be, was pictured in his mind ;
His thoughts were virtue, and his heart was love.

1 'His remains lie on the south side, and near the top of the west burying-
ground in this parish. The spot is marked by a neat and rather handsome stone,
which does not, however, seem to have been erected to his memory, as the in
scription relating to his father occupies the front and principal part of the stone,
while that relating to himself and a half brother, whose name was Lister, a
minister of the Secession in Dundee, occupies the back, and was probably put on
at a later period than the other.' — Letter from Rev. W. A. Pettigrew, Dysart,
to Dr Mackelvie.

2 ' Ac veluti summis antiquam in montibus ornum,
Cum ferro accisam crebrisque bipennibus, instant
Eruere agricolse certatim ; ilia usque minatur,
Et tremefacta comam, concusso vertice, nutat.'

VIRGIL, &neid II.

' Rent like a mountain ash, which dar'd the winds,
And stood the sturdy strokes of lab'ring hinds.
About the roots the cruel axe resounds :
The stumps are pierc'd with oft repeated wounds,
The war is felt on high, the nodding crown
Now threats a fall, and throws the leafy honours down.'

DRYDEN'S Translation. — M'K.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 229

i as a summer's sun's unruffled face,
He looked unmoved on life's precarious game,
And smiled at mortals toiling in the chase
Of empty phantoms — opulence and fame.

Steady he followed Virtue's onward path,

Inflexible to Error's devious way ;
And firm a: last, in hope and fixed faith,

Thro* Death's dark vale he trod without dismay.

The gloomy vale he trod, relentless Death !

Where waste and horrid desolation reign.
The tyrant, humbled, there resigns his wrath ;

The wretch, elated, there forgets his pain ;

There sleep the infant, and the hoary head ;

Together lie the oppressor and the oppressed ;
There dwells the captive, free among the dead ;

There Philocles, and there the weary rest

The curtains of the grave fast drawn around,
'Till the loud trumpet wakes the sleep of death,

With dreadful clangour through the world resound,
Shake the firm globe, and burst the vaults beneath.

Then Philocles shall rise, to glory rise,
And his Redeemer for himself shall see ;

With Him in triumph mount the azure skies :
For where He is, His followers shall be.

Whence then these sighs ? and whence this falling tear ?

To sad remembrance of his merit just,
Still must I mourn, for he to me was dear,

And still is dear, though buried in the dust

23o THE WORKS OF

DAPHNIS: A MONODY.

TO THE MEMORY OF MR WILLIAM ARNOT, SON OF MR DAVID ARNOT,
OF PORTMOAK, NEAR KINROSS.

[A Letter from Bruce, sending this Monody to Mr Arnot (or Arnott) senior, is now
before us. It begins : — ' Dear Sir, — Walking lately by the churchyard of your
town, which inspires with a kind of veneration for our ancestors, I was struck
with these beautiful lines of Mr Gray, in his " Elegy written in a Country Church
yard,"

" Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid,
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ;"

and immediately I called to mind your son, whose memory will be ever dear unto
me ; and, with respect to that Place [Heaven], put the supposition out of doubt.
I wrote the most part of this poem the same day, which I should be very sorry if
you look upon as a piece of flattery : I know you are above flattery ; and if I know
anything of my own mind, I am so too. It is the language of the heart ; I think
a lie in verse and prose the same. The versification is irregular, in imitation of
Milton's Lycidas.' Then follows the Monody, as printed here. Comparison with
previous texts will show in them departures from what Bruce wrote, that are not
improvements, as well as new lines and epithets, and other lesser details. Under
the title is a quotation from Horace, ' Quis desiderio sit pudor, aut modus, tarn
cani capitis.' After the poem he adds, ' I have sent a line from Mr Henderson to
Mr Dryburgh. You may [en]close mine in it as this seems to be largest, and de
liver them with as much ease as .one. Excuse this trouble from yours sincerely,
MICHAEL BRUCE.' It is dated ' Gairny-Bridge, May 2Qth, 1765,' and there is a
P.S. : 'This will give you an idea of George's way of writing.' — G.]

No more of youthful joys, or love's fond dreams ;

No more of morning fair, or ev'ning mild ;

While Daphnis lies among the silent dead

Unsung ; though long ago he trode the path,

The dreary road to death,

Which soon or late each mortal foot must tread.

He trode the dark uncomfortable wild

By Faith's fair light, and Truth's unsullied beams ;

By Love, whose image gladdens mortal eyes,

And keeps the golden key that opens all the skies.

Assist ye Muses ! — and ye will assist :

For Daphnis, whom I sing, to you was dear :

MfCfMBL BRUCE. 131

Ye loved the boy, and on his youthful head

Your kindest influence shed. —

So may I match his lays, who to the lyre

\\.ulcd his lost Lycidas by wood and rill :

So may the Muse my grov'ling mind inspire

With high poetic fire ;

As thy sad loss, dear youth, with grief do [I deplore]

To sing a farewell to thy ashes blest ;'

To bid fair peace be to thy gentle shade ;

To scatter flowerets, cropt by Fancy's hand,

1 assemblage round thy tomb,
If watered by the Muse, to latest time to bloom.

( )ft by the side of Leven's crystal I ,ake,
Trembling beneath the closing lids of light,
With slow short-measured steps we took our walk :
Then the dear youth would talk
Of argument, far, far above his years ;
Or young compeci

And high would reason : he could reason high ;
Till from the east the silver Queen of Night
Her journey up heaven's steep began to make,
And Silence reigned attentive in the sky.

O happy days !— for ever, ever gone !

When o'er the flow'ry green we ran, we play'd

With blooms bedropt by youthful Summer's hand :

Or, in the willow's shade,

Upon the echoing banks of the fair Lake

We mimic castles built among the sand,

Soon by the sounding. surge to be beat down.

1 Lines, 'To sing,1 etc., on to 'time to bloom,' not in the MS as sen:
Arnot «enior.-G.

232 THE WORKS OF

Or sweeping wind ; when, by the sedgy marsh,

Or rushy pool we wand'red in our play,

And heard the heron and the wild duck harsh,

Or sweeter lark tune her melodious lay,

At highest noon of day.

Among the antic moss-grown stones we'd roam,

With ancient hieroglyphic figures wrought ;

Winged hour-glasses, bones, and spades, and sculls,

And obsolete inscriptions, by the hands

Of other years. Ay me ! I little thought

That where we play'd he soon should fill a tomb.1

Where were ye, Muses ! when the leaden hand
Of Death, remorseless, clos'd your Daphnis' eyes 1
For sure ye heard the weeping mother's cries ; —
But the dread pow'r of Fate what can withstand ?
Young Daphnis smil'd at Death ; the tyrant's darts
As stubble counted.. What was his support 1
His conscience, and firm trust in Him whose ways
Are truth ; in Him who sways
His potent sceptre o'er the dark domain
Of death and hell ; who holds in streight'ned rein
Their banded legions ; ' Thro' the darksome vale
He'll guide my steps ; He will my heart sustain ;
I trust His plighted word, it will not fail ;'
He, smiling, said, and died ! —

Hail, and farewell, blest youth ! Soon hast thou left
This evil world. Short was thy thread of life :
And quickly by the envious Sisters shorn.
Thus have I seen a rose with rising morn

1 The farm of Portmoak stands on the margin of Lochleven. The parish church
formerly stood beside it, and a portion of the old burying-ground still remains in
which young Arnot is interred.— M'K. [See photograph.— G.]

MICHJEL BRUCE. »33

Unfold its fragrant bloom, sweet to the smell,
And lovely to the eye ; when a keen wind
Has tore its leaves, and laid its green head low,
Strip't of its sweets : ev*n so,
So Daphnis fell ! long ere his prime he fell !
Nor left he on these plains his JHXT behind ;
These plains, that mourn their loss, of him bereft,
No more look gay, but desert and forlorn.
No song is heard, mute is the sylvan strife.

Now cease your lamentation, shepherds, cease :

For Daphnis whom you weep, and whom you lov'd,

A better life, and in a fairer clime,

Now lives. No sorrow enters that blest place ;

But songs of love and joy for ay resound :

And music floats around,'

By fanning zephyrs from the spicy groves,

And flowers immortal wafted ; asphodel

And amaranth, unfading, deck the ground,

With fairer colours than, ere Adam fell,

In Eden bloomed. There, haply he may hear

This artless song. Ye powers of verse ! improve,

And make it worthy of your darling's ear,

And make it equal to the shepherd's love.

Thus, in the shadow of a frowning rock,
Beneath a mountain's side, shaggy and hoar,
A homely swain, tending his little flock,
Tun'd to the Doric reed his rural lay,

Instead of what follows, the original MS.
•And mate floats around
On aromatic gales born ! and improv'd,
There haply hears with pity my sad rhyme-
Rhyme ! Ah, how inferior to my love ! '— G.

234 THE WORKS OF

Rude and unletter'd in the Muse's lore,
Till in the west sunk the descending day ;
Then rising, homeward slowly held his way.' (ad)

VERSES

ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. WM. M'EWEN.2

M'EwEN gone ! and shall the mournful Muse

A tear unto his memory refuse ?

Forbid it all ye powers that guard the just,

Your care his actions, and his life your trust.

The righteous perish ! is M'Ewen dead ?

In him Religion, Virtue's friend, is fled.

Modest in strife, bold in religion's cause,

He sought true honour in his God's applause.

What manly beauties in his works appear,

Close without straining, and concise though clear.

Though short his life, not so his deathless fame,

Succeeding ages shall revere his name.

Hail, blest immortal, hail ! while we are tost,

Thy happy soul is landed on the coast,

That land of bliss, where on the peaceful shore

Thou view'st with pleasure, all thy dangers o'er ;

Lain in the silent grave, thy honour'd dust

Expects the resurrection of the just.

1 See Note (aa) at end for ' various readings.' — G.

2 Author of ' A Treatise on the Scripture Types, Figures, and Allegories,' and
' Essays on various subjects.' He died suddenly at Leith, in the twenty -eighth
year of his age, and seventh of his ministry.— M'K.

MICHAEL BRUCE. aj5

TO JOHN MILLAR, M. D.

ON RECOVEKY F*OM A DANGBXOl'S FIT OF ILUOB*. — WRITTtX IN TUB NAME
OF MR DAVID FEAUON.)

A RUSTIC youth (he seeks no better name)
Alike unknown to fortune and to fame,
Acknowledging a debt he ne'er can pay,
For thee, O Millar ! frames the artless lay :
That yet he lives, that vital warmth remains,
And life's red tide bounds briskly thro* his veins ;
To thee he owes. His grateful heart believe,
And take his thanks sincere, 'tis all he has to give.
Let traders brave the flood in thirst of gain,
Kept with disquietude as got with pain ;
Let heroes, tempted by a sounding name,
Pursue bright honour in the fields of fame.
Can wealth or fame a moment's ease command
To him, who sinks beneath affliction's hand ?
Upon the wither'd limbs fresh beauty shed ;
Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead 1

1 Dr Millar was a surgeon in Kirkaldy, twelve miles from Kinnesswood, whence
he had come repeatedly to visit David Pearson, who had an ulcer in hit leg. and
whose poverty prevented him from giving this skilful physician his well-earned
remuneration. Pearson applied to his friend Bruce to express his acknowledg
ments in verse, which he did. The above is only a small part of the letter of
thanks taken down by Mr Birrcl. according as Pearson was able to repeat it.
The original was given by Pearson into Logan's own hand. It ended with the
following lines :—

• For tuneful Garth b gone, and mighty Mead,
Pope's Arbuthnot lies slumbering with the dead ;
And when at last (far distant be the day)
Remorseless Death shall mark thee for his prey,
May thy free spirit mount the climes above.
And join thy consort in the land of love '— M 'K

336 THE WORKS OF

AN EPIGRAM.

WITH Celia talking, Pray, says I,

Think you, you could a husband want,

Or would you rather choose to die

If Heav'n the blessing should not grant ?

Awhile the beauteous maid look'd down,
Then with a blush she thus began :

' Life is a precious thing I own,
But what is life — without a man ? '

PASTORAL SONG.

TO THE TUNE OF THE YELLOW-HAIR'D LADDIE.

IN May when the go wans appear on the green,
And flow'rs in the field and the forest are seen ;
Where lilies bloom'd bonny, and hawthorns upsprung,
The Yellow-hair'd laddie oft whistled and sung.

But neither the shades, nor the sweets of the flow'rs,
Nor the blackbirds that warbled on blossoming bow'rs,
Could pleasure his eye, or his ear entertain ;
For love was his pleasure, and love was his pain.

The shepherd thus sung, while his flocks all around
Drew nearer and nearer, and sigh'd to the sound :
Around as in chains, lay the beasts of the wood,
With pity disarmed, with music subdu'd.

Young Jessy is fair as the spring's earl)f flower,
And Mary sings sweet as the bird in her bower :

MICHAEL BRUCE. 137

But Peggy is fairer and sweeter than tl

With looks like the morning, with smiles like the d

In the flower of her youth, in the bloom of eighteen,
Of virtue the goddess, of beauty the queen :
One hour in her presence an sera excels
Amid courts, where ambition with misery dwells.

F.iir to the shepherd the new-springing flow'rs,
When May and when morning lead on the gay hours :
Hut Peggy is brighter and fairer than they ;
She's fair as the morning, and lovely as May.

Sweet to the shepherd the wild woodland sound,
When larks sing above him, and lambs bleat around ;
But Peggy far sweeter can speak and can sing,
Than the notes of the warblers that welcome the Spring.

When in beauty she moves by the brook of the plain,
You would call her a Venus new sprung from the main :
When she sings, and the woods with their echoes reply,
You would think that an angel was warbling on high.

Ye Pow'rs that preside over mortal estate !
Whose nod ruleth Nature, whose pleasure is fate,
O grant me, O grant me the heav'n of her charms !
May I live in her presence, and die in her arms !

LOCHLEVEN NO MORE.

TO THE TUNE Of 'LOCHABKR NO MORE.'

FAREWELL to Lochleven and Gairny's fair stream,
How sweet, on its banks, of my Peggy to dream ;
But now I must»go to a far distant shore,
And I'll may-be return to Lochleven no more.

238 THE WORKS OF

No more in the Spring shall I walk with my dear,
Where gowans bloom bonny, and Gairny runs clear ;
Far hence must I wander, my pleasures are o'er,
Since I'll see my dear maid and Lochleven no more.

No more do I sing, since far from my delight,
But in sighs spend the day, and in tears the long night ;
By Devon's dull current stretch'd mourning I'll lie,
While the hills and the woods to my mourning reply.

But wherever I wander, by night or by day,
True love to my Peggy still with me shall stay ;
And ever and aye my loss 111 deplore,
Till the woodlands re-echo Lochleven no more.

Though from her far distant, to her I'll be true,
And still my fond heart keep her image in view :

0 could I obtain her, my griefs were all o'er,

1 would mourn the dear maid and Lochleven no more.

But if Fate has decreed that it ne'er shall be so,
Then grief shall attend me wherever I go ;
Till from life's stormy sea I reach death's silent shore,
Then I'll think upon her and Lochleven no more.1

FRAGMENTS OF SATIRES.

' There was a piece entitled "Fungus;" and the writer has reason to believe
that there were a number of satires ; for, on a slip of paper in his possession, there
is this note in the poet's handwriting, " Add to Satire first ;" and then these lines
follow.'— M'K.

I.

Or shall we weep, or grow into the spleen,
Or shall we laugh at the fantastic scene,

1 This Song appeared in a somewhat inaccurate form in ' The Weekly Maga
zine or Edinburgh Amusement,' vol. iii. p. 306, March 9, 1769. It is not deemed
worth while to notice the variations. It was composed on leaving 'Gairney
Bridge ' for Forrest Mill.— G.

MICHAEL BRUCE. «39

ce a dull mechanic, in a fit.
Throw down his plane, and strive to be a
Thus wrote De Foe, a tedious length of years,
And bravely lost his conscience and his ears,
To see a priest eke out the great design,
And tug with I^-itin points the halting line.
Who would not laugh, if two such men there were ?
Such there have been — I don't say such there are.

u.

*Last week I made a visit to Portmoak, the parish
where I was born, and being accidentally at the funeral
of an aged rustic , I was invited to partake of the usual
entertainment before the interment We were conducted
into a large bam, and placed almost in a square,

When lo ! a mortal, bulky, grave, and dull,
The mighty master of the sevenfold skull,
Arose like Ajax. In the midst he stands —
A well filled bicker loads his trembling hands.
To one he comes, assumes a visage new —
* Come ask a blessing John? — 'tis put on you.'
4 Bid Mungo say,' says John, with half a t
Famed for his length of beard and length of gran-.
Thus have I seen, beneath a hollow rock,
A shepherd hunt his dogs among his flock —
' Run collie, Battie, Venture.' Not one l.<
Then rising, runs himself, and running swears.

In short, Sir, as I have not time to poetize, the grace is
said, the drink goes round, the tobacco pipes are lighted,
and, from a cloud of smoke, a hoary-headed rustic
addressed the company thus: — 'Weel, John (/>. the
deceased), noo when he's gone, was a good, sensible
man, stout, and healthy, and hale; and had the best

240 THE WORKS OF

hand for casting peats of onybody in this kintra side.
Aweel, Sirs, we maun a' dee — Here's to ye.' I was
struck with the speech of this honest man, especially with
his heroic application of the glass, in dispelling the
gloomy thoughts of death.1

THE POET'S PETITION FOR 'A TABLE.'

WITHIN this school a table once there stood —

It was not iron — No ! 'twas rotten wood.

Four generations it on earth had seen —

A ship's old planks composed the huge machine.

Perhaps that ship in which Columbus hurl'd

Saw other stars rise on another world, —

Or that which bore, along the dark profound,

From pole to pole, the valiant Drake around. —

Tho' miracles long since were said to cease,

Three weeks — thrice seven long days — it stood in peace ;

Upon the fourth, a warm debate arose,

Managed by words, and more emphatic blows ;

The routed party to the table fled,

Which seemed to oifer a defensive shade.

Thus, in the town, I've seen, when rains descend,

Where arched porticoes their shades extend,

Papists and gifted Quakers, Tories, Whigs,

Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs —

Men born in India, men in Europe bred,

Commence acquaintance in a mason's shed.

1 This unseemly procedure, which was once common at funerals in the country,
but now happily falling into disuse, seems to have strongly impressed the mind of
our poet, for he introduces it also into his ' Last Day,' with implied disapproba
tion —

' To the dust

We gave the dead. Then, moralizing, home
The swains returned, to drown in copiotis bowls
The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.' — M'K.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 141

Thus they ensconc'd beneath the table lay, —
With shouts the victors rush upon the prey, —
Attack'd the rampart where they shelter took.
With firing battered, and with engines shook,
It fell. The mighty ruins strew the ground.
It fell ! The mountains tremble at the sound.
Hut to what end (say you) this trifling tale I
Perhaps, sir, man as well as wood is frail ;
Perhaps his life can little more supply,
4 Than just to look about us and to die.'

ECLOGUE.

IN THE MANNER OF OSSIAN.

0 COME, my love ! from thy echoing hill ; thy locks on
the mountain wind !

The hill-top flames with setting light; the vale is
bright with the beam of eve. Blithe on the village green
the maiden milks her cows. The boy shouts in the wood,
and wonders who talks from the trees. But Echo talks
from the trees, repeating his notes of joy. ^Vhere art
thou, O Morna ! thou fairest among women ? I hear not
the bleating of thy flock, nor thy voice in the wind of the
hill. Here is the field of our loves ; now is the hour of
thy promise. See, frequent from the harvest-field the
reapers eye the setting sun : but thou appearest not on
the plain.

1 >.iughters of the bow ! Saw ye my love, with her little
flock tripping before her ? Saw ye her, fair moving over
the heath, and waving her locks behind like the yellow
sun-beams of evening ?

Q

24a THE WORKS OF

Come from the hill of clouds, fair dweller of woody
Lumon !

I was a boy when I went to Lumon's lovely vale.
Sporting among the willows of the brook, I saw the
daughters of the plain. Fair were their faces of youth ;
but mine eye was fixed on Morna. Red was her cheek,
and fair her hair. Her hand was white a$ the lily. Mild
was the beam of her blue eye, and lovely as the last smile
of the sun. Her eye met mine in silence. Sweet were
our words together in secret. I little knew what meant
the heavings of my bosom, and the wild wish of my heart.
I often looked back upon Lumon's vale, and blest the
fair dwelling of Morna. Her name dwelt ever on my lip.
She came to my dream by night. Thou didst come in
thy beauty, O maid ! lovely as the ghost of Malvina, when,
clad with the robes of heaven, she came to the vale of
the Moon, to visit the aged eyes of Ossian king of harps.

Come from the cloud of night, thou first of our
maidens ! come —

The wind is down ; the sky is clear : red is the cloud
of evening. In circles the bat wheels over head ; the
boy pursues his flight. The farmer hails the signs of
heaven, the promise of halcyon days : Joy brightens in
his eyes. O Morna ! first of maidens ! thou art the joy
of Salgar ! thou art his one defire ! I wait thy coming on
the field. Mine eye is over all the plain. One echo
spreads on every side. It is the shout of the shepherds
folding their flocks. They call to their companions, each
on his echoing hill. From the red cloud rises the even
ing star. — But who comes yonder in light, like the Moon
the queen of heaven ? It is she ! the star of stars ! the

MICHAEL BRUCE. a4J

lovely light of Lumon ! Welcome, fair beam of beauty,
for ever to shine in our valleys !

MOK

I < ome from the hill of clouds. Among the green
rushes of Balva's bank, I follow the steps of my beloved.
The foal in the meadow frolics round the mare: his
bright mane dances on the mountain wind. The leverets
play among the green ferns, fearless of the hunter's horn,
and of the bounding grey-hound. The last strain is up
in the wood. — Did I hear the voice of my lovet It was
the gale that sports with the whirling leaf, and sighs in
the reeds of the lake. Blessed be the voice of winds
that brings my Salgar to mind O Salgar ! youth of the
rolling eye ! thou art the love of maidens. Thy face is a
sun to thy friends : thy words are sweet as a song : thy
steps are stately on thy hill : thou art comely in the
brightness of youth ; like the Moon, when she puts off
her «lun robe in the sky, and brightens the face of night.
The clouds rejoice on either side : the traveller in the
narrow path beholds her, round, in her beauty moving
through the midst of heaven. Thou art fair, O youth of
the rolling eye ! thou wast the love of my youth.

SALGAR.

Fair wanderer of evening ! pleasant be thy rest on our
plains. I was gathering nuts in the wood for my love,
and the days of our youth returned to mind ; when we
played together on the green, and flew over the field with
feet of wind. I tamed the blackbird for my love, and
taught it to sing in her hand. I climbed the ash in the
cliff of the rock, and brought you the doves of the wood

244 THE WORKS OF

MORNA.

It is the voice of my beloved ! Let me behold him
from the wood-covered vale, as he sings of the times of
old, and complains to the voice of the rock. Pleasant
were the days of our youth, like the songs of other years.
Often have we sat on the old grey stone, and silent
marked the stars, as one by one they stole into the sky.
One was our wish by day, and one our dream by night.

SALGAR.

I found an apple-tree in the wood. I planted it in my
garden. Thine eye beheld it all in flower. For every
bloom we marked, I count an apple of gold. To-morrow
I pull the fruit for you. O come, my best beloved.

MORNA. .

When the gossamer melts in air, and the furze
crackle in the beam of noon, O come to Cona's sunny
side, and let thy flocks wander in our valleys. The heath
is in flower. One tree rises in the midst. Sweet flows
the river by its side of age. The wild bee hides his
honey at its root. Our words will be sweet on the sunny
hill. Till grey evening shadow the plain, I will sing to
my well-beloved.

THE VANITY OF OUR DESIRE OF IMMORTALITY HERE :

A STORY IN THE EASTERN MANNER.

CHILD of the years to come, attend to the words of
Calem ; — Calem, who hath seen fourteen kings upon the
throne of China, whose days are a thousand four hundred
thirty and nine years.
Thou, O young man ! who rejoicest in thy vigour ; the

MICHAEL BRUCE. 245

days of my strength were as thine. My possession >
large, and fair as the gardens of Paradise. My cattle
covered the vallies ; and my flocks were as the grass on
Mount Tirza. Gold was brought me from the ocean,
and jewels from the Valley of Serpents. Yet I was un
happy ; for I feared the sword of the angel of Death.

One day, as I was walking through the woods which
grew around my palace, I heard the song of the birds :
but I heard it without joy. On the contrary, their cheer
fulness filled me with melancholy. I threw myself on a
bank of flowers, and gave vent to my discontent in these
words : * The time of the singing of birds is come, and
the voice of the turtle is heard. These trees spread their
verdant branches above me, and beneath the flowers
bloom fair. The whole creation rejoices in its existence.
I alone am unhappy. Why am I unhappy f What do I
want ? Nothing. But what avail my riches, when in a
little I must leave them? What is the life of man ? His
days are but a thousand years ! As the waves of the
ocean ; such are the generations of man : The foremost
is dashed on the shore, and another comes rolling on.
As the leaves of a tree ; so are the children of men :
They are scattered abroad by the wind, and other leaves
lift their green heads. So, the generations before us are
gone ; this shall pass away, and another race arise. How,
then, can I be glad, when in a few centuries I shall be
no more ? Thou Eternal, why hast thou cut off the life of
man I and why are his days so few?'

I held my peace. Immediately the sky was black with
the clouds of night A tempest shook the trees of the
forest : the thunder roared from the top of Tirza, and the
red bolt shot through the darkness. Terror and amaze
ment seized me ; and the hand of him before whom the
sun is extinguished, was upon me. (Calem,' said he

246 THE WORKS OF

(while my bones trembled), * I have heard thee accusing
me. Thou desirest life ; enjoy it. I have commanded
Death, that he touch thee not.'

Again the clouds dispersed ; and the sun chased the
shadows along the hills. The birds renewed their song,
sweeter than ever before I had heard them. I cast mine
eyes over my fields, while my heart exulted with joy.
'These,' said I, 'are mine for ever!' But I knew not
that sorrow waited for me.

As I was returning home, I met the beautiful Selima
walking across the fields. The rose blushed in her
cheeks ; and her eyes were as the stars of the morning.
Never before had I looked with a partial eye on woman.
I gazed ; I sighed ; I trembled. I led her to my house,
and made her mistress of my riches.

As the young plants grow up around the cedar ; so my
children grew up in my hall.

Now my happiness was complete. My children mar
ried ; and I saw my descendants in the third generation.
I expected to see them overspread the kingdom, and
that I should obtain the crown of China.

I had now lived a thousand years ; and the hand of
time had withered my strength. My wife, my sons, and
my daughters, died ; and I was a stranger among my
people. I was a burden to them ; they hated me, and
drove me from my house. Naked and miserable, I wan
dered ; my tottering legs scarce supported my body. I
went to the dwellings of my friends ; but they were gone,
and other masters chid me from their doors. I retired to
the woods ; and, in a cave, lived with the beasts of the
earth. Berries and roots were my meat ; and I drank of
the stream of the rock. I was scorched with the sum
mer's sun ; and shivered in the cold of winter. I was
weary of life.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 147

One (by I wandered from the woods, to view the
which was once mine. I saw it; but it was low.
Fire had consumed it : It lay as a rock cast down by an
earthquake. Nettles sprung up in the court ; and from
within the owl scream'd hideous. The fox looked out at
mdows: the rank grass of the wall waved around
his head. I was filled with grief at the remembrance of
\vh.it it. and what I had been. • Cursed be the day/ I
said, ' in which I desired to live for ever. And why, O
Thou Supreme! didst thou grant my request t Had it
not been for this, I had been at peace ; I had been asleep
in the quiet grave ; I had not known the desolation of
my inheritance ; I had been free from the weariness of
life. I seek for death, but I find it not : my life is a curse
unto me.'

A shining cloud descended on the trees ; and Gabriel
the angel stood before me. His voice was as the roaring
stream, while thus he declared his message : * Thus saith
the Highest, What shall I do unto thee, O Calem? What
dost thou now desire? Theu askedst life, and I gave it
thee, even to live for ever. Now thou art weary of living ;
and again thou hast opened thy mouth against me.'

NOTES.

NOTE (a)— P. 130.

Parapbrajt from Complaint of Nature. — The following is the
text of this Paraphrase (Job xiv. 1-15) as it is given in the
« Translations and Paraphrases ' of the ' Kirk of Scotland : ' —

Few are thy day*, and full of woe. Yet won reviving plants and flow'rs

O man, of woman born ! Anew shall deck the plain ;

Thy doom is written. ' Dust thou art. The woods shall bear the voice of Spring.

And shah to dust return.' And flourish green again.

Behold the emblem of thy state
In flow'n that bloom and die.

Or in the shadow's fleeting form,
That mocks the gazer's eye.

Guilty and frail, how shah thou stand

Before thy sovYeign Lord ?
Can troubled and polluted springs

Ah.,.. rM :: I - ..- r I]

Determined are the days that fly

Successive o'er thy head ;
The numbcr'd hour is on the wing

That lays thee with the dead.

Great God ! afflict not, in thy wrath.

The short allotted span
That bounds the few and weary days

Of pilgrimage to man.

But man forsakes this earthly scene.

Ah ! never to return :
Shall any following spring revive

The ashes of the urn ?

The mighty flood that rolls along

Its torrents to the main.
Can ne'er recall its waters lost

From that abyss again.

So days, and years, and ages past,

Descending down to night,
Can henceforth never more return

Back to the gates of light ;

And man, when laid in lonesome grave.
Shall sleep in Death's dark gloom.

Until th' eternal morning wake
The slumbers of the tomb.

All nature dies, and lives again : O may the grave become to me

The flow'r that paints the field. The bed of peaceful rest.

The trees that crown the mountain's brow, Whence I shall gladly rise at length.
And boughs and blossoms yield, And mingle with the blest !

Resign the honours of their form
At Winter's stormy blast.

And leave the naked leafless plain
A desolated waste.

Cheer"d by this hope, with patient mind,
I'll wait Hcav'n's high decree,

Till the appointed period come.
When death shall set me free.

250 THE WORKS OF

NOTE (A)— P. 133.

Heavenly Wisdom. — The version of this Paraphrase, as it appears
in the ' Translations and Paraphrases,' presents some noticeable
variations. In the second stanza, line first, for ' has,' it reads
' hath;' and line third, for ' reward,' reads ' rewards;' and for
our text in line fourth,

' Than all their stores of gold.'

In the second stanza, second line, for ' years,' reads ' days ; ' and
for our text what follows : —

' Riches, with splendid honours join'd,
Are what her left displays.'

In the third stanza, line second, for ( path,' reads f paths.'

We have in these changes, no doubt, another illustration of
Logan's course in claiming authorship. In his own volume of
1781 he had given Bruce's Hymn from Bruce's MS. volume as
his o'wn. Qualms of conscience seem in the interval to have
visited him ; and so, to satisfy these, he makes the above (so-called)
* improvements ' in giving it to the volume of ' Translations and
Paraphrases,' and then he felt as free to claim its authorship as
after the same self-deceiving process with Doddridge's and the
rest of Bruce's. See our Memoir, pp. 95-100 ; and also for the
very same thing in the ' Ode to the Cuckoo,' pp. 83-86.

NOTE (r) — P. 135.

Simeon Waiting. — The following is the text of this Paraphrase
(Luke ii. 25-33) as it is given in the 'Translations and Para
phrases : ' —

Just and devout old Simeon liv'd ; Nor did he wait in vain ; for, lo !

To him it was reveal'd, Revolving years brought round,

That Christ, the Lord, his eyes should see In season due, the happy day,

Ere death his eyelids seal'd. Which all his wishes crown'd.

For this consoling gift of HeaVn When Jesus, to the temple brought
To Israel's fallen state, By Mary's pious care,

From year to year with patient hope As Heav'n's appointed rites requir'd,
The aged saint did wait. To God was offer'd there,

MICH4EL BRUCE. a5i

Simeon into those sacred courts Mine eye* have thy salvation teen.

A heavnly impulse drew ; And gladness filU my heart.

He saw the Virgin hold her too.
And uraight hi* Lord he knew. At lenfth my arms embrace my Lord,

Now let their vigour cease ;
••'• • At last my eye* my Saviour tee.

The good old father unil'd; Now let them dose in peace.

Then fondly in his witherM arms

This great salvation, long prrparM,

And now discios'd to view,
An. I u hilc he held the heav'n-born Babe, Hath proVd thy love was constant still.

Ordain'd to bless mankind. And promises were true.

Thus spoke, with earnest look, and heart
Exulting, yet resign'd : That Sun I now behold, whose light

Shall heathen darkness chaae ;

Now, Lord ! according to thy word. And rays of brightest glory pour
Let me in peace depart ; Around thy chosen race.

< >ur remarks in Note b apply equally to this Paraphrase, as a
comparison will show. — G.

NOTE (d}— P. 150.

' And follow Nature up to Natures God.' — Pope had said

' Steve to no sect, who takes no private road.
But looks thro' Nature up to Nature'* God.'

e« tfam.-G.

NOTB(»— P. IJI.

' Oft morning dreams presage approaching fate.' — Horace fu: -
nishri one example :

' Atqui, ego cum Gnecos facerem, natus mare citra,
Versiculoft, vetuit me tali voce Quirinus
Post mediam noctem visus, cum somnia vcra.'

Satins, *.— G.

NOTE (/)— P. 155-

Weaving Spiritualized. — This subject appears to have been
suggested to Bruce by Ralph Krskinc's ' Smoking Spiritualized.'

25 * me WORKS OF

The Lines are circulated amongst the villagers of Kinnesswood,
in manuscript, with whom it is popular ; and from a copy be
longing to one of them the above is transcribed, with a few verbal
alterations.— M'K.

NOTE (g)— P. 156.

Inscription on a Bible. — This was written on the fly-leaf of the
Poet's own little Bible. The volume is still preserved. — G.

NOTE (£)— P. 157.

Light first-born of existence. Milton :

' Hail holy light, offspring of Heaven first-born.'

Paradise Lost, B. iii. 1. i.— G.

NOTE (7)— P. 1 60.

The Ways . . . of Providence be cleared. Milton :

' I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to man.'

Paradise Lost, B. i. 1. 26.

Pope:

' And vindicate the ways of God to man.'

Essay on Man. — G.

NOTE (y)— P. 1 6 1.

Athos. — Dr Mackelvie adds to this reference the following
quotation from good old Lempriere, under Athos, which will be
sought for in vain in Dr Smith's i Dictionary : ' —

' Athos, a mountain of Macedonia, 150 miles in circumference,
projecting into the ./Egean Sea, like a promontory. It is so high
that it overshadows the island of Lemnos, though at the distance
of 87 miles. A sculptor, called Dinocrates, offered Alexander
to cut Mount Athos, and to make with it a statue of the King
holding a town in his left hand, and in the right a spacious basin

MICH4EL BRUCE. 153

to receive all the waters which flowed into it. Alexander givatly
admired the plan, but objected to the place ; and he observed,
that the neighbouring country was not sufficiently fruitful to pro
duce corn and provisions for the inhabitants, which were to dwell
in the city, in the hand of the statue.'

NOTE (*)— P. 1 6 a.

Pale affright. — We have here a recollection of Milton, Paradise
Lost, B. vi. 1. 856 seq. It may also be noted here that in
' Daphnis : a Monody,' we have like recollection of ' Lycidas' :

'fbr Lycidas is daad, dead ere hi« prime ;
Young Lycida*, and hath not left hi* peer.'

Similarly elsewhere. — G.

NOTE (/)— P. 163.

The rapid stream . . . Tigris. — The river Tigris, i>. Sagitta,
is so called from its rapidity. — M'K.

NOTE (m)— P. 164.

A spirit liivd within tbem.—Dr Mackelvie supplements the
Bible allusion here by a reference to the ' Spiritus intus olit ' of

ice.

NOTE (»)— P. 171.
.— Milton : * Lenient of grief,' Samson Agonistes, I.

NOTE (o) — P. 1 8 8.

Ittxeb jet retains for name. — The poet here insinuates that
Lochleven is an abbreviation of Lochlevina, which is about as
probable as another derivation given by some of the inhabitants
around the Lake, that Lochleven is an abbreviation of Loch-
eleven ; and they account for this appellation by affirming that it
was once fed by eleven streams, surrounded by eleven proprie-

659.— G.

254 THE WORKS OF

tors' lands, was eleven miles in circumference, was studded by
eleven islands, seen from eleven parishes, inhabited by eleven
kinds of fish, and so forth, to the number of eleven elevens, not
one of which peculiarities, so far as we can learn, ever belonged
to it. It is, however, a striking circumstance, that the only two
hills in Scotland named Lomond, should each have a lake at its
base called Leven ; for so Loch-Lomond was anciently called, as
the stream by which it empties itself into the Clyde is still named,
and by which name it has been celebrated by Smollett, in the
famous Ode beginning —

' On Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love.'

The word Leven is held to be of Saxon origin, and by some
it is understood to mean clear, by others smooth. The former
interpretation seems the more probable, from the fact that this
property is a characteristic of all the waters to which the name is
applied ; of which in Britain, besides those already named, there
is the river Leven in Westmoreland, the stream by which the
lake Windermere empties itself into the sea ; and there are also
the ' Black' and ' White' Leven, two streams in Cumberland.
— M'K.

NOTE (p) — P. 192.

O Ltelius ! — In the first draught of the poem the following
verses preceded those in the text : —

' And oft would join

My walk the good Philologus, whose mind,
Superior to the world, with scorn looks down
And pity, on the low pursuits of men ;
And, far above the mists which little pride
And erring passions raise, his piercing eye
Roves through the spacious intellectual world.'

By Philologus and Laelius our poet is known to intend his
early friend Mr George Henderson, son of the proprietor of
Turf hills, afterwards assistant to the Rev. James Fisher, of the
Secession Church, Glasgow. This gentleman was suddenly cut
off in the midst of his usefulness. He preached in his usual
health on Sabbath, and died on the Thursday following, in the

MICHJEL BRUCE. a55

thirty-sixth year of his age, and fourteenth of his ministry. 1 i is
widow survived till within the last few months.

The name Philologus was changed into that of Lzlius, as
expressive of the friendship that subsisted between Bruce and
Henderson, in allusion to the intimacy between Lxlius the
Roman consul and Africanus the younger, — an intimacy so great,
that Cicero, in his treatise De Amicttta, adduces it in illustration
of the real nature of friendship, with its attendant pleasures. —
M-K.

NOTE (7)— P. 191.

Fronting Gatrnj.— This island, the largest of the four which
embellish Lochleven, has been increased, by the partial draining
ot" the Lake, from thirty-two to eighty acres. It is named St
Serfs Isle, as having been the site of a priory dedicated to St
Serf or Servanus, who is reported to have been a pilgrim from
Canaan, and in whose honour Bondeus, a Pictish king, founded
the place, and gave the isle to his Culdees. David I. annexed it
to the priory of St Andrews. Andrew Win ton was prior of
this place, and wrote in it his History of the World, beginning
with the Creation, and ending with the captivity of James I., in
whose reign he died. This history is still extant in the Advo
cates' Library. [Published. — G.] The island has been recently
brought under the plough, and the ruins of the priory converted
into a stable, which Sir James Montgomery is about to shade
with some trees from his neighbouring plantations, and so
remove in part the present naked appearance of the scenery in
that portion of the Lake. [Done. — G.] — See Chambers' Gazet
teer, Sibbalfs Fife, and Forsytes Beauties of Scotland.— M'K.

NOTE (r) — P. 193.

Sflma. — ' Selma,' according to the expositors of Ossian, was
the capital of Morven ; and Morven, or Mor Bean, signifies the
hill country or highlands. ' I beheld thy towers, O Selma, the
oaks of thy shaded wall.' — Sec Ossian s Poems, 'The War of Inis-
tbona.— M'K.

2j6 THE WORKS OF

NOTE 0) — P. 193.

Lochk'ven Castle. — Lochleven Castle is of unknown antiquity.
It is said to have been founded by Congal, son of Dongart, king
of the Picts. It occurs in history as early as 1334, when an
unsuccessful siege was laid to it by John de Strevelin, an English
officer. It was anciently a royal castle, and occasionally the
residence of the Pictish and Scottish kings. Alexander in. lived
some time in it after his return from an interview with Henry in.
of England. It was granted by Robert in. to a branch of the
Douglas family, but it seems to have reverted again to the
Crown. Sir Robert Douglas, in 1542, received from James v.
grants of the baronies of Dalkeith and Kinross, with the Lake and
castle of Lochleven, which title the family still enjoys, together
with that of Morton, to which earldom they afterwards succeeded.

Lochleven Castle has been repeatedly used as a State prison.
Patrick Graham, Archbishop of St Andrews, and grandson of
King Robert in., after an unsuccessful attempt to reform the
lives of the Catholic clergy, was, through their influence at Court,
arrested, confined in different monasteries, and at last died a
prisoner in Lochleven Castle in 1478. After Mary Queen of
Scots had parted with Both well at Carberry, and surrendered
herself a prisoner to the Confederate Lords, she was conveyed to
this Castle, and shut up, June 16, 1567, under charge of the
wife of Douglas of Lochleven, the mother of Murray, after
wards Regent of Scotland. On the ensuing 24th of July she
was compelled, by a party of those statesmen, to sign an instru
ment, resigning the Crown to her infant son, who was accordingly
inaugurated a few days after at Stirling, under the title of James
vi. Several attempts had been made to rescue her from her
place of confinement, which the vigilance of her keeper rendered
abortive ; but Mary had captivated the heart of George Douglas,
her keeper's brother, a youth of eighteen, who, on May 2, 1568,
conveyed her from the Castle in a boat to the shore, an accom
plice having found means to steal the keys and open the gates.
The keys were thrown into the Lake, and were recently found by
a young man belonging to Kinross, who presented them to the
Earl of Morton, in whose possession they now are. The Earl of
Northumberland, after his rebellion in England, was seized in

MICHAEL BRV( 257

Scotland, and confined in Lochleven Castle from 1569 to 1572,
when he was delivered up to Queen Klizabeth and executed.
The square tower, and a portion of the rampart which surrounded
the building, are all that now remain of this famous place, and
which Sir James Montgomery is in the act of securing from
further dilapidation. [Thoroughly done by the present baronet,
Sir Graham Montgomery : the Castle, as our photograph shows,
is now embosomed in ' plantations.'— G.]— See Nobles Genealo
gical History of the Stuarts, Chambers s Gazetteer, MaitlatuTs
History of Scotland, and Forsytes Beauties of Scotland. — M«K.

NOTE (/) — P. ao I.

Fox. — 1 have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were deso
late. The fire had resounded in the halls, and the voice of the
people is heard no more. The stream of Glut ha was removed
from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook there
its lonely head. The moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked
out of the windows ; the rank grass of the wall waved round its
head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina ; silence is in the house
of her fathers.' — Ossians Poems, Cartbon.—WK.

NOTE («) — P. 105.

Sir James the Ross.— I have given ' Sir James the Ross ' as
it appears in the * Weekly Magazine or Edinburgh Amusement,'
vol. ix. Sept. ao, 1770, pp. 371-373. Prefixed was the follow
ing short note : —

To tkt PtAluktr oftht

SIK.— Some days ago I met with an old Scottish Ballad, of which the following
is a copy ; which, I dare «ay, you will be willing to preserve from oblivion, by
giving it a place in your entertaining Amusement. There are few of your
Readers, I am persuaded, but will be pleased to see at once such a specimen of
ancient Scottish poetry and valour.

It is deemed proper to furnish here also the Ballad as Logan

published it in the volume of 1770. A comparison will reveal

alterations and insertions. In all likelihood these belong to

Logan ; and it is a marvel that on the strength of them he did not

R

THE WORKS OF

claim the whole as his, according to his wont. The Ballad of
' Sir James the Ross ' was enclosed in a letter by Bruce to Mr
David Pearson, in which he excellently distinguishes between the
Song and the Ballad.— G.

SIR JAMES THE ROSS.

AN HISTORICAL BALLAD.

Of all the Scottish northern Chiefs
Of high and mighty name,

The bravest was Sir James the Ross,
A knight of meikle fame.

Her brother, Buchan's cruel lord,

Their passion disapprov'd :
He bade her wed Sir John the Graeme,

And leave the youth she lov'd.

His growth was like a youthful oak,
That crowns the mountain's brow ;

And, waving o'er his shoulders broad,
His locks of yellow flew.

One night they met, as they were wont,

Deep in a shady wood ;
Where on the bank, beside the burn,

A blooming saugh-tree stood.

Wide were his fields, his herds were large, Conceal'd among the underwood
And large his flocks of sheep, The crafty Donald lay,

And num'rous were his goats and deer The brother of Sir John the Grseme,
Upon the mountains steep. To watch what they might say.

The chieftain of the good Clan Ross,

A firm and warlike band :
Five hundred warriors drew the sword

Beneath his high command.

When thus the maid began : ' My Sire

Our passion disapproves ;
He bids me wed Sir John the Grseme,

So here must end our loves.

In bloody fight thrice had he stood
Against the English keen,

Ere two and twenty op'ning springs
The blooming youth had seen.

' My father's will must be obey'd,
Nought boots me to withstand ;

Some fairer maid in beauty's bloom
Shall bless thee with her hand.

The fair Matilda dear he lov'd,

A maid of beauty rare ;
Even Marg'ret on the Scottish throne

Was never half so fair.

' Soon will Matilda be forgot,
And from thy mind eflac'd ;

But may that happiness be thine,
Which I can never taste ! '

Long had he woo'd, long she refus'd
With seeming scorn and pride ;

Yet oft her eyes confess'd the love
Her fearful words deny'd.

What do I hear ? Is this thy vow ?'
Sir James the Ross replied ;

And will Matilda wed the Graeme,
Tho' sworn to be my bride ?

At length she bless'd his well-try'd love, ' His sword shall sooner pierce my heart,
Allow'd his tender claim ; Than reave me of thy charms '—

She vow'd to him her virgin-heart, And clasped her to his throbbing breast,

And own'd an equal flame. Fast lock'd within her arms.

L BRUCE.

' I »poke to try thy love,' the laid,
' I'll near w«d man but thee ;

The grave shall be my bridal bed.
If Graeme my husband be.

' To Skye I will direct my tight,
Where my brave brothers bide,

And raise the Mifhty of the bk»
To combat on my ade.'

hen. dear youth ! this faithful kit*. • O do not to,' the maid replied.
In witMMofmy troth; h roc till morning %uy ;

And every plague become my lot. For dark and dreary is the night,

That day I break my oath,' And daagYoos H the way.

They parted thus—the sun was set: 'All night 111 watch thee in the park ;

Up batty Donald flies; My faithful page 111 send,

And. 'Turn thee, turn thee. beardles* In haste to raise the brave Oan ROM

He loud insulting cries. (youth!' Their master to defend.'

Soon turn'd about the fearless chief.
And soon his sword he drew:

For Donald's blade before his breast
Had pierc'd his tartans thro*.

He bid him down beneath a bush.
And wrap'd him in his plaid ;

While, trembling for her lover's (ate.
At distaMO Mood die maid.

• This for my brother's slighted love ; Swift ran the page o'er hill and dale.

His wrongs sit on my arm.'— Till, in a lowly glen,

Three pace* back the youth retirU He met the furious Sir John Graeme

And sav'd himself from harm. With twenty of his men.

Returning swift, his sword he rear'd
Fierce Donald's head above ;

And thro' the brain and crashing bone
The furious weapon drove.

' Where goest ? thou little page ! ' he said.

* So late who did thee send T '
* I go to raise the brave CUn Ross,

Their master to defend.

Life issued at the wound ; he fell.

A lump of lifeless clay:
4 So fall my foes,' quoth valiant Ross,

And stately strode away.

' For he has slain fierce Donald Graeme.

His blood is on his sword ;
And far, far distant are his men.

Nor can assist their lord.'

Thro' the green wood in haste he pass'd 'And has he slain my brother dear?'
Unto Lord Buchan's hall. The furious chief replies :

Beneath Matilda's windows stood, ' Dishonour blast my name, but he

And thus on her did call : ' By me ere morning dies.

• Art thou asleep, Matilda Cur !

Awake, my love ! awake ;
Behold thy lover waits without.

A long farewell to take.

::.• K | ||

• Say, page ! where is Sir J

I will thee well reward.'

* He sleeps into Lord Buchan's park ;

Matilda is his guard.'

ivc slain fierce Donald Gncmc, They spurr'd their steeds, and furious flew.
His blood is on my sword ; Like lightning, o'er the lea :

And far. far distant are my men. They rcach'd Lord Buchan's lofty tuw'r

Nor can defend their lord. By dawning of the day.

260 THE WORKS OF

Matilda stood without the gate Behind him basely came the Graeme,

Upon a rising ground, And wounded in the side :

And watch'd each object in the dawn, Out spouting came the purple stream,

All ear to every sound. And all his tartans dy'd.

'Where sleeps the Ross?' began the But yet his hand not dropp'd the sword,
' Or has the felon fled ? [Graeme, Nor sunk he to the ground,

This hand shall lay the wretch on earth, Till thro' his en'my's heart his sword
By whom my brother bled.' Had forc'd a mortal wound.

And now the valiant knight awoke, Graeme, like a tree by winds o'erthrown,

The virgin shrieking heard : Fell breathless on the clay ;

Straight up he rose, and drew his sword, And down beside him sunk the Ross,
When the fierce band appear'd. And faint and dying lay.

' Your sword last night my brother slew, Matilda saw, and fast she ran :
His blood yet dims its shine ; ' O spare his life,' she cried ;

And, ere the sun shall gild the morn, ' Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life,
Your blood shall reek on mine.' Let her not be denied.'

' Your words are brave,' the chief re- Her well-known voice the hero heard ;

' But deeds approve the man. [turn'd ; He rais'd his death-clos'd eyes ;
Set by your men, and hand to hand He fix'd them on the weeping maid,

We'll try what valour can.' And weakly thus replies :

With dauntless step he forward strode, ' In vain Matilda begs the life
And dar'd him to the fight : By death's arrest deny'd ;

The Graeme gave back, and fear'd his arm, My race is run — adieu, my love !'
For well he knew his might. . ' Then clos'd his eyes, and dy'd.

Four of his men, the bravest four, The sword, yet warm from his left side,

Sunk down beneath his sword ; With frantic hand she drew ;

But still he scorn'd the poor revenge, ' I come, Sir James the Ross,' she cry'd,

And sought their haughty lord. ' I come to follow you.'

The hilt she lean'd against the ground,

And bar'd her snowy breast,
Then fell upon her lover's face,

And sunk to endless rest.

NOTE (V) — P. a 10.

' Quern virum, aut heroa, lyra vel acri
Tibia sumis celebrare, Clio.'

HORACE, i. xii

MICHAEL BRUCE. a6i

NOTE (w)— P. 113.

It is curious to find a whole line of Burns* * Scots wha hae '-
save only ' usurpers ' substituted for ' oppressor,'— in this some
what stilted < Ode :'

•Lay the proud imup«r» low,
Tyrants fell/ etc.

Our great national poet wrote with characteristic sympathy
concerning Bruce, on the application of Principal Baird for aid
toward his new edition of Bruce's ' Poems.' The correspondence
is given in Burns' Works, and also by Dr Mackclvie from Boys'
' Lives of the Scottish Poets' (3 vols. nmo, 1811). — G.

NOTE (*)— P. aao.

• Now with furies unrounded,
DHpalrinsj* coafcunded ;
He trembles, he glow*.
AnudstRhodope'ssMw*'

Pore's Odf to St CtcilMi />«r.-M'K

t'iftorioiu.—

'Thus song could prevail
O'er death and o'er hell ;
A conquest how hard and how glorious !
Though Fate had fast bound her
With Styx nine times round her.
Yet Music and Love were victorious.'

Form's Ode to St Ctcitia'* Zfcy.-M K

NOTE (z)— P. 1*3.

Cona. — Ossian frequently styles himself the * Voice of Cona,'

and his harp sounds little else than ' The loves of hunters and

irs of kings.' Cona, from which the Son of Fingal pro

bably took his name, is a small stream running through Glcncoc

in Argyleshire. ' The streams of Cona answer to the voice of

• rk.

^6^ THE WORKS OF

NOTE (ad) — P. 234.

As stated in the Note prefixed to the Monody, it is now given
for the first time from Brace's own MS. But it is deemed well
to record the ' various readings' presented in the text issued
under the editorship of Logan. In all probability Logan took
his from the quarto volume of transcribed ' Poems ' mentioned
in our Memoir, and thus the variations may be explained, though
perhaps he also ' tinkered ' what Bruce had written. Besides
those insertions noted in their places, these are noticeable : — First
of all, the heading in the volume of 1770 is 'Daphnis: a
Monody. To the memory of a young boy of great parts.'
I. Line i is made line a, and line a line i.

5 for ' to ' reads * of.'

6 for ' mortal ' reads ' human.'

8 for ' fair ' reads ' pure ; ' and for our text, 'by

Hope's heav'n-op'ning beams.'
II. Line 8, 9, of our text omitted. The MS. being torn, I

have supplied the words ' I deplore.'
in. Line 4 ' the dear youth ' omitted.

6 omitted.

7 for our text, simply, ' Then he would reason high.'
iv. Line 4 for ' willow ' reads e willow- shade.'

5 omitted.

8 for ' wind ' reads ' winds,' and line 9 omitted.

10 for ' and heard' reads ' We heard ; ' and line u, for
'or' reads ' And,' and for ( her' reads 'his.'

14 for ' wrought ' reads 'graced;' and line 15 reads
' and skulls and spades.'

17 for 'years' reads 'ages,' and for 'ay me' reads

'ah.'
1 8 for our much more vivid text reads 'That we

then play'd o'er his untimely tomb.'

v. Line la inserts ' trembling' before ' steps,' and instead of
our text reads ' with heavenly ray I see the
dawning of immortal day,' and the last words
of lines 9 and 10 plural instead of singular.

MICHAEL BRUCE. 463

\ i. Line a for ' short ' reads ' feir,' a poor substitute ; and for
' and' in next line * reads ' but.'

5 for ' fragrant ' reads ' glowing.'

7 for ' has tore ' reads ' hath torn,' and inserts

4 blushing ' before ' leaves,' and omits ' its green
head.'

8 for < ev'n so' reads ' ah ! so.'
13 omitted.

vu. Line a reads * Though Daphnis died below, he lives above.'
4 reads * He lives,' and line 5 inserts ' ceaseless ' and
omits ' for ay.'

6 for * music ' reads ' fragrance.'

vui. Line 4 omitted, and next three lines read thus:—

Rude, yet a lover of the Mtuc't lore.

Quoted his Doric strain till clow of day ;

Then rwe. and homeward slowly bent his way.-G.

V I request the following correction* to be made. At page 109 it ought to
have been stated that Dr Mackelvie overlooked the twelfth Hymn or Paraphrase.
•Dying in the Lord' (pp. 138, 139). At page na, line yl from bottom, read
' unfading ' for 'unfailing.'— C.

II U IMt.

MURRAY AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

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